Of Justice and Magic
by Lady Star Sapphire
Summary: AU. How can justice prevail when the magical world is ruled by corruption and bigotry? Simple. You bring it to its knees. What if Harry was raised by Bruce Wayne? Features Batman, Nightwing and Harry Potter as Robin.
1. Introducing Harrison Wayne

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is copyright © J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. 1998. For more information about copyright laws please see its respective website. Batman is © copyright DC Comics, Bob Cane and Bill Finger 1939. For more information about copyright laws please see its respective website.**  
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**Of Justice and Magic  
**

Part I: Introducing Harrison Wayne_  
_

_Gotham City. _

_ July 20__th__ 01:30 a.m. EDT._

_ The ACE Chemical Plant._

"Robin," Batman snarled, shoving his protégé in the opposite direction rather forcefully. "_Run!_"

The Boy Wonder did not need to be told a second time; using the momentum from the strength of Batman's push, he tucked his head and allowed his body to fall into a semi-roll before he launched himself off of the roof top. Gravity immediately pulled him downward; his cape fluttered wildly around him, the wind billowing through his thick, black hair. Arching his back, he reached for his grapple gun at the side of his hip, aimed and then swung himself up on to the adjacent building. He landed in a crouch, his emerald eyes blazing beneath his domino mask as he searched his surroundings for any sign of a potential threat. Seeing nothing, he stood up slowly, his right hand gripping his cape as he drew it around himself. Sixteen seconds later the building he and Batman previous stood upon exploded in a blast of concrete and metal, a mushroom cloud – tinted orange from the fire – scattering dust and Lord knew what else into the atmosphere.

Robin scowled, the dark expression somewhat more noticeable due to the fact that most of Gotham saw him with a permanent smile. His hands clenched into tight, angry fists. Batman would _not_ be pleased. The two of them spent three months working on this case; Batman even decided to contact Nightwing and see if the first Robin knew anything about what they discovered at each individual crime scene. None of the evidence collected pointed to any of their trademark villains; it frustrated the three of them to no end because the death toll steadily climbed higher. This new criminal obviously wanted to create a reputation for himself. Robin could already list several potential reasons why: he wanted a chance to join a gang and he went about murdering people to prove his ruthlessness, he wanted to gain territory belonging to another gang (say Maroni or Falcone, for example), he wanted to prove that the city deserved a different class of criminal (in accordance with psychopaths and murderers _already_ running lose) or he wanted to best Batman. Over the past three months of collecting data and examining evidence, both he and the Dark Knight learned the hard way that their target enjoyed setting up traps for them to trigger. He wondered vaguely if their criminal could be Josiah Wormwood 'the Interrogator' but quickly crossed him off their list of suspects; while the traps strongly hinted at it being him, nothing else matched his MO.

Frustration built between them and GCPD; the boys in blue didn't care about evidence or forensics, not with so many dying within such a short time, so long as they managed to capture and imprison the one responsible for each murder caused. He and Batman wanted the same but Batman taught him patience; analyzing and gathering evidence meant that they could properly prove the person behind each death; it also taught them about the way that person's mind worked. Apart from the traps, the two of them learned that the murderer chose specific victims; he preferred young women in their early to mid-twenties, he strayed towards brunettes and each of them wore glasses. Batman and Robin could only cover so much ground and the Dark Knight absolutely refused to allow any Meta humans into his city; that did not stop him from speaking with the members of the Justice League to compare notes. Criminals existed everywhere but few attempted to live that life in Metropolis; Bludhaven and Gotham proved to be the best bet – until one encountered Batman, Robin or Nightwing. All three of them figured that the murderer originated in Bludhaven before Nightwing set up his vigil.

"He's toying with us."

Robin did not turn at the sound of Batman's gruff voice but he could hear the barely constrained rage within each syllable he uttered.

"Of course he is," he agreed softly. "He wants us to think we're close to finding his hideout and, then, when we do stumble upon his cache, he blows it up while we're still inside."

"It's a risk we have to take, Robin," the older man growled. The two of them faced the smoldering ruins of the abandoned building, watching as firefighters attempted to douse the flames and police quartered off the street. Batman's lips curled in a furious snarl. "This has to stop. He's killing too many innocent victims."

"There has to be something in common with each of his victims," Robin muttered. He turned to the holocomputer on his wrist, activating the screen with a few mumbled words in Romanian and began typing frantically for several minutes. He pulled up the death certificate of each victim over the past three months and enlarged the images of their mutilated bodies; he pressed two fingers to the screen and a small box of subtext appeared. He entered his password and waited 40 seconds for the program to load before he sighed with defeat. "There's absolutely nothing that these women have in common with each other."

The two of them understood how the criminal mind worked; while there appeared to be no connection between the women and their murderer, they knew otherwise. The killer enjoyed harassing his targets which proved that he followed them to their places of employment and even to where they went for their leisure time. Batman and Robin often spoke to the women's employers but their bosses always told them the same thing: they never recognized just one man. They learned that he disguised himself exceptionally well; he did not wear the same costume twice, which made it difficult to track him through surveillance cameras. Batman also considered this a personal issue: each woman worked for Wayne Enterprises (not on the same floor or even in the same building). This led the two of them to believe that he also worked for Wayne Enterprises or managed to infiltrate its private network to access the employee files. If it turned out to be the latter, he and Batman would need to heighten their security; they did _not_ need anyone learning about the secret identities of the Dynamic Duo.

"Come, Robin." Batman settled his hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing gently. "There is nothing else we can do tonight."

Squaring his shoulders, Robin nodded. Turning on his heel, he dashed forward and performed three cartwheels in a row before he back flipped and leapt off the building. A smile graced his lips. He loved flying! Rolling out of the dive, he released his grapple and landed silently beside the Batmobile. He ran his gloved fingers over the smooth surface and grinned when the vehicle's engine rumbled; with a soft hissing sound, the roof slid back and he gracefully climbed inside, joined a moment later by the Dark Knight. Revving the beautiful vehicle, Batman drove toward the secret Batcave hidden beneath Wayne Manor.

_Gotham State._

_ July 20__th__ 02:03 a.m. ED. _

_ The Batcave._

"Tonight proved unsuccessful once again, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked quietly.

The elderly man watched the troubled young man entrusted into his care at the tender age of eight after he witnessed the shocking murder of his mother and father. For several years he had greatly feared for the boy whom he considered a son more than a ward of the state. Returning to his city of birth after years spent traveling the world and learning many different forms of martial arts and self defense, Alfred did not recognize the man that bore the Wayne name; instead of the moody adolescent he expected, he found a man driven with a need to _protect_ those that lived in the same city and the means to go about it. Only when Bruce petitioned for custody of Richard 'Dick' Grayson did Alfred truly notice a change in his boy: the man started to care. Bruce became more careful during his patrols, more the father the boy needed than the avenging angel. Months later he returned from a trip to London, England with a baby cradled in his arms. Without waiting, Bruce adopted the baby – one Harry J. Potter.

Bruce shared the letter tucked into the baby's blanket with Alfred and the knowledge behind the written words appalled both of them. As Harry grew up and exhibited signs of magic, Bruce contacted one of the members of the Justice League: Zatanna, the daughter of the infamous Zatara. She did not know much about the difference between English and North American magic but she taught his youngest grandchild how to control himself. When he turned eight and began his intensive training to become Robin (he _did_ know how to defend himself but Bruce would not allow him to become Robin until he turned eight), Bruce offered Harry the letter Albus Dumbledore wrote to Petunia and explained the truth behind his parentage. It did not surprise the older man when Harry tossed the letter aside, hugged his father and proclaimed proudly, "I'm a Wayne."

"I'm missing something, Alfred," Bruce snarled when the top of the Batmobile slid back to reveal his favourite boys. "I just can't figure out what it is."

"I'm sure it will come to you, Master Bruce," he offered politely. He saw the toll each murder took upon his children; each day their shoulders drooped a little more knowing that one young woman would not be returning to her home safely. His eyes drifted to the youngest one in the room and flicked to the lightning bolt scar barely visible beneath his fringe and an idea wormed its way inside his brain. "Do you suppose," he began to suggest lightly, "that it may be sorcery?"

Both Bruce and Harry stared at him.

"Metas are not allowed in Gotham," Bruce growled, a dark warning seeping into his voice.

"I am not talking about Metas, sir," Alfred murmured.

"You think it could be the wizard that attempted to murder Harrison?" he asked, his gaze shifting to his son's protectively.

"I am not sure if he is _the_ wizard but I do believe that he is of that origin," Alfred disagreed with quiet grace.

"Why would he come to Gotham?" Harry questioned. "No one knows that I'm Harry Potter, right?"

"No," Bruce agreed, his voice rumbling. "Not even Zana knows you were originally born Harry Potter."

"I might dispute that fact, sirs," Alfred added.

"What do you mean, Alfred?"

The elderly man reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew a yellowish-coloured envelope. "This arrived in a most peculiar fashion for you, Master Harry."

Harry glanced at Bruce and Alfred's lips twitched; at this tender age, he sought the approval of his father more than anyone else.

"You may as well," Bruce said as he pulled his mask off and folded his arms across his chest.

Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in an emerald green to:

_Mr. H. Potter_

_Harry's Room (That means STAY OUT Dick!)_

_Wayne Manor_

_Gotham City_

He pulled out the letter and read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely _

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"First of all," Bruce growled as he strode over to stand beside his son. "I want to know how they discovered our whereabouts and how they go about labeling their letters."

Alfred understood his son's anxiety. Too many super criminals lived within Gotham for any of them to remain living in relative safety if any of them were to learn the identities behind the Dynamic Duo. They wore masks to protect those they loved, to prevent their enemies from learning of their names to use against them during battle. That did not stop villains such as Joker and Two-Face from attempting to kidnap Robin and beat him to within an inch of his life before Batman could return the favour tenfold. They even attempted ransom demands by kidnapping Dick Grayson or Harrison Wayne only to learn the hard way that that did not pay as well as they hoped it would. Alfred winced internally. Far too many times for his comfort he remembered Batman returning with Robin wounded and bleeding in his arms. Far too many times he'd feared that he'd never look into the brilliant emerald eyes of his grandson again. And then that time with Wormwood … Alfred visibly blanched at the memory.

"It's okay, Alfie," Harry soothed. He took his grandfather's hand in his and squeezed gently, silently offering the man the physical contact he knew would comfort the two of them.

"Impudent brat," he scolded affectionately but he squeezed back nevertheless. Only he and Dick could ever get away with calling him 'Alfie'.

"This worries me," Bruce muttered. He turned to face Alfred, holding the envelope in his hand where the emerald ink clearly addressed their whereabouts.

"You could always speak to Mistress Zatanna about strengthening the magical wards already set in place," he suggested.

"Damn it, Alfred." The billionaire cursed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I personally made sure that the Cave is untraceable. I have wards and fail safes up for a reason. No one should know of this place's existence except the select few I decide to bring here!"

Bruce took his son's safety extremely seriously.

"The fact that some British wizards could so easily know of Wayne Manor's location while incorrectly labeling Harrison's name—!"

Alfred and Harry shared a knowing look. Bruce Wayne loved his son dearly and would give his very life if it meant protecting him; he loved and cherished the fact that Harry wanted to keep his adopted name instead of resuming his official surname. He'd stamped his claim on the boy, marked him as _his_ and, damn it, it visibly hurt him when people did not believe his adoration for his children. Alfred knew that this letter would have alarm bells ringing inside Bruce's head, rousing every paternal and protective instinct that he possessed.

"This doesn't change anything," Harry snapped, glaring at his father. "Just because it's labeled 'Potter' doesn't mean that I _am_. I haven't been a Potter for 10 years. I don't even _remember_ being a Potter. What makes you think I'm going to start now?"

"You're a Wayne and you're _mine_," Bruce snarled, possessive rage echoing in his deep voice.

"That is simply not up for negotiation," Alfred stated matter-of-factly. Anyone contesting Bruce's parental rights over Harry would have to go through him first. "Be that as it may, young sirs, Master Harry you must decide whether or not you wish to attend Hogwarts."

Bruce lifted his head and glared pointedly at Alfred, his blue eyes smoldering with more than the possessive rage of moments before. If Harry agreed to attend Hogwarts, Bruce would not be able to help him if he required aide; all three of them knew that Harry could handle himself: he'd proven himself more than capable in the field and, as with Nightwing, held more experience than most of the Young Justice Team combined. And Alfred suddenly understood. The secret Dark Knight of Gotham City loathed magic with every fibre of his being – and not because of the simple guess that he did not understand how it worked. His time battling Klarion the Witch Boy taught him that those with magic exploited it for their own personal gain; he considered magic as a method of cheating especially because of the fact that he fought hand-to-hand combat. Alfred realized that, subconsciously, Bruce feared the loss of his son to magic's allure. Yet, at the same time, he'd learned to work _with_ the boy's magic. Upon learning of his son's magical capabilities, Bruce cornered Zatanna to learn all that he could about the magical world; he even decided that it would be prudent for the sorceress to tutor Harry about the very basics of magic. Alfred knew that Bruce did not want to impede his son's development, especially of one of his natural resources.

"Perhaps we should speak with Mistress Zatanna," Bruce offered quietly. "She is a member of the Justice League and she could easily help you in making your final decision, Harrison."

"Mistress Zatanna may also know of magical schools that you may attend here, in the United States rather than traveling across the Atlantic," Alfred suggested.

"That would certainly seem more prudent," Bruce agreed.

"I don't know enough to make a decision," Harry said seriously, his gaze intense. "I think it's important to learn how to harness my magic but I also want to know why I should attend Hogwarts instead of any other school available out there."

Bruce smiled proudly.

"I could also send a letter to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall explaining that I am unfamiliar with the world of magic," the young boy suggested. "That way she can explain the benefits of attending the school."

Then he frowned.

"Don't make your decision now," Bruce advised. "Write to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and see what she has to say."

"Wouldn't it be more beneficial to have a meeting with her, then?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. "There's only so much you can fit into a letter or a brochure. I want to know about the classes I'll be attending, about my career in the future if I do decide to attend Hogwarts. I want to know why I _should_ attend Hogwarts instead of every other magical school out there, especially why I should leave Gotham – my home – for it."

"They certainly seem like an unorganized lot," his father stated coldly.

"Certainly," the boy agreed. "I cannot be the only one with little to no knowledge of the magical world. How am I to go about purchasing my books? _Where_ do I go to purchase my books? Better yet, _how_ does one travel to Hogwarts?"

"Does the Deputy Headmistress have an e-mail address?" Bruce asked.

Harry shook his head in the negative. "The letter simply states 'we await your owl', whatever that means."

"I hate magic."

Harry smiled thinly. "So do I."

He grinned at the look of incredulity on his father's face.

"I do," he persisted, "but I believe that if I don't train, don't learn to harness my magic, I could become a liability. I don't want to cause any accidents because I didn't learn how to control my bursts of magic."

Bruce growled and Alfred could see the fatigue gnawing away at the two of them.

"Send your response to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall," Alfred said. "You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by doing so, Master Harry." He glanced at his employer. "Shall I arrange a meeting with Mistress Zatanna?"

"We'll await the Deputy Headmistress's reply," Bruce said. "If I am not satisfied with her answers then we shall speak to Zana."

"Very good, sirs."

_Gotham State._

_July 23__rd__ 11:26 a.m. EDT. _

_The Batcave._

Harry dodged the blow and threw himself to the left, rolling swiftly backward to avoid the kick that his father aimed at his shoulder. Shifting his body subtly, he placed his hands flat on the mat, spread his weight out evenly and spun his body upward; his father easily deflected the blow directed toward his sternum. The older man wrapped his fingers around Harry's ankle and yanked backward with very little strength. Losing his balance, his chin slammed into the floor's padding. His jaw throbbed. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain; he did not have the seconds to spare thinking about it: he needed to _move. _When his father released his ankle, intent on administering the final strike, Harry swiped his left leg behind the man's knees. He went down. Leaping to his feet, Harry grasped his father's wrist in his right hand and yanked the limb behind his back; Bruce grunted. Then he pressed his knee into the middle of the man's back, pinning his father's free hand between his chest and the mat.

"Yield," he growled.

But the man would not yield. Before Harry could comprehend just what, exactly, _had_ happened, he found himself on the ground with his face pressed once again into the floor. His father's hold, while gentle, remained firm. He wanted to train his son how to defend himself and protect the innocent; they _did_ bruise each other from time to time when they sparred together. He wriggled, subtly testing the pressure his father applied to his pinned wrists; Bruce knew what he was doing but a common thug (or mook, as he preferred to call them) would not. Instead of loosening his hold, he applied more pressure to his grip. Now Harry's wrists began to hurt. Feeling around with his fingers Harry managed to grab the loose skin under his father's thumb and pinched the flesh hard. The man hissed between his teeth but released his hold on him. Rolling on to his back, he then leapt to his feet; feinting with his right hand he then attempted to kick the man's side.

Expecting the blow, his father countered with deflecting Harry's kick by grabbing his foot and driving his free hand toward his eyes. Harry scowled in concentration. He decided to try a different tactic; he allowed gravity to factor into the equation and his body fell forward. His father released his foot in an attempt to grip his shoulders to prevent him from smacking face first into the floor (again). He grinned to himself. Only ever with his father would that work; if he tried to play that game with Two-Face or Joker, well … the results would be very different.

"Well done," the older man praised, signaling the end of their training session. He walked over and clapped Harry on the shoulder, smiling at him. "Well done, indeed. You're learning and you're improving, two very important lessons."

Harry beamed, pride flooding his veins. While his father always encouraged him and offered words of wisdom, he rarely praised and he only did so when he believed the compliment worthy of being noted upon. He praised his children more often than the other members of the Young Justice Team but not enough that he could so easily brush off the recognition.

"Go shower and change. I'll meet you—"

"Master Bruce."

Harry lifted his head to stare curiously at Alfred; the valet _never_ interrupted his surrogate son unless the situation proved extremely serious or very dire.

"What is it, Alfred?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line. That growl in his father's voice meant someone would pay dearly for upsetting the elder English gentleman.

"Master Bruce there are two very uninvited guests at present demanding your and Master Harry's attention."

Father and son shared a look.

"Who are they?"

"Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Charity Burbage of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sir," Alfred answered curtly.

"And when did they arrive?"

"Only moments ago, sir," the elderly man replied. "They gave one quite the start when they appear out of nowhere, especially while one is gardening."

Familiar calm settled over Harry; his hands clenched into fists at his side.

"You said they just _appeared_?"

"Out of thin air, sir."

"And where are they now?"

"In the sitting room, sir."

Harry met the hard look his father turned toward him, knowing that several important questions needed answering.

"Shower," he ordered his son. "Dress appropriately and fix your hair. You have 20 minutes and then we shall meet our 'guests' in the sitting room."

(*)

"Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Burbage, may I introduce you to Master Wayne and his young son, Master Harry."

Harry stood silently beside his father, his hands folded politely behind his back; after showering, he dressed in semi-formal attire: black trousers and a dark blue properly pressed polo shirt with a pair of black leather shoes. Both women wore extraordinary attire, their clothing reminiscent of the Medieval Ages. He believed that this particular style of clothing would appear ridiculous on any other adult but he admitted that Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Burbage managed to look rather impressive. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall wore floor-length emerald robes overtop of an ankle-long black skirt and white blouse; square-rimmed glasses framed intense silver eyes and she kept her long black hair pulled in a tight knot on the back of her head. She stood regally with her shoulders square and her expression one of stern interest. Professor Burbage stood beside her older co-worker and she wore a bright purple-coloured robe that fell down to just past her knees with a matching knee-length skirt and white camisole. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders and highlighted her light green eyes and tanned skin. Unlike Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, she bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly and giggled nonstop when his father brushed his lips across her fingertips.

"Charity," the older woman scolded softly, casting her friend a stern glare. "Behave yourself, my girl."

"Sorry," she apologized, giggling nervously. "I've just never been in the presence of _Bruce Wayne_ before."

Harry fought hard not to roll his eyes at the sound of the woman's high-pitched squeal when she uttered his father's name. Truthfully, it startled him a great deal that a witch knew about Playboy 'Brucie' Wayne especially when the two of them knew so little about the magical world.

"And _you_," Professor Burbage cooed, turning round to face him head on. "You must be _Harry Potter_."

"Wayne, Professor Burbage," he corrected her politely. "My name is Harrison Wayne."

The two women shared a look that neither he nor his father understood.

"Mr. Potter," she began only to pause at the dark frown she received from his father. "Mr. Potter, surely you are aware of your heritage, of the fact that you are the sole survivor of—"

"I am well aware of what transpired that Halloween night a decade ago," Harry interrupted the Professor politely by raising his hand. "I am grateful for the life that Lily and James gave me but my name is Wayne _not_ Potter."

"Then you are aware of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Deputy Headmistress McGonagall asked him, taking a step forward to stand beside Professor Burbage.

"Yes, I know of Voldemort," Harry answered.

His eyes narrowed when both women flinched violently at the name.

"I would like to know what this has to do with my son," his father growled. He settled a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing once in silent reassurance; the son leaned back, uniting himself with the older man.

"Harry's famous!" Professor Burbage blurted. She blushed a becoming shade of pink when both Deputy Headmistress McGonagall and Bruce glared at her.

"Why?" the boy asked.

"Why?" The pink-robed witch sputtered indignantly. "Why because you survived when no one else did. You're the _Boy Who Lived_!"

"Charity," Deputy Headmistress McGonagall scolded. "Behave yourself, you silly woman."

"Minerva how can you be so calm?" she demanded of the other woman. "He doesn't even know who he is, let alone about magic!"

"I do know of magic," Harry informed the two women calmly. "And, I assure you, I know exactly who I am, however, that was not the reason I sent you the return letter. I would like to know why I should attend Hogwarts when I'm sure there are several magical schools within Gotham State."

Harry could tell by the looks on their faces that he surprised them; his lips twitched and he fought not to smirk. They thought that by simply showing up (and frightening Alfred) that he would agree to travel across the Atlantic Ocean and attend their fancy school? _That_ annoyed him immensely.

"I assure you, Mr. Pot- _Wayne_, that Hogwarts greatly exceeds other magical institutions," Professor Burbage tried to reason with him.

"How so?" Harry's father asked. "What does Hogwarts offer that other schools do not?" He glanced down at Harry. "I would rather not send my son half way round the world to a school we know nothing about. I'm sure Zatanna would know of several schools close to home that you could attend and learn just as much."

"I'm unfamiliar with this Zatanna," Professor Burbage mumbled. "Is she a witch?"

"Sorceress," Harry corrected, his tone changing subtly. "Zatanna is a sorceress, one of the few in the world."

"We teach true magic at Hogwarts," Deputy Headmistress McGonagall attempted to explain. "Sorcery is a delicate branch of magic that is very difficult to master. That this Zatanna has done so is to be commended."

Now Harry frowned. He recognized the game they played and he did not like it, not at all.

"That still does not tell me why I should attend Hogwarts," he politely redirected the conversation toward his original goal. "What does the school offer that others don't?"

"Several classes including Ancient Runes, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies are available at Hogwarts," Deputy Headmistress McGonagall informed them.

"What are Muggles?" Harry demanded but he knew by the tightening muscles in his stomach that he would not enjoy the answer.

"Non-magic folk."

Both father and son stiffened at the unintentional insult. These two believed that because his father did not possess the gift of magic (according to them) that he should be considered less than human? His hands clenched into involuntary fists. His father did not _need_ magic. Despite the powerful heroes that he worked alongside in the Justice League, every member respected and feared _him_.

"And why would you have such a class?" his father asked harshly, gaining Harry's attention.

"Why, to learn about your ways and methods," Professor Burbage explained, beaming at the chance to explain in depth about her subject. "You're so very different from us and yet so similar in many ways. It's fascinating!"

"I think I've heard enough, Dad," Harry murmured, his gaze cold. "Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Burbage, I wish to thank you for coming to see me in person but I must inform you that I am no longer interested in attending Hogwarts."

Both witches went rigid at Harry's declaration.

"Surely, you can't be _serious!_" the pink witch exclaimed.

"I am very serious," the boy answered, his straight back and hardened expression proving that he meant business. "I will not attend a school in which prejudice and bigotry is practiced on a regular basis."

"Wait! Harry – let me try again," Professor Burbage pleaded.

"This is not a contest, my good lady," his father growled, supporting his son's decision.

"Mr. Wayne, I do believe it would prove beneficial for you to attend Hogwarts," Deputy Headmistress McGonagall insisted. "Your parents attended Hogwarts. I taught them myself."

"My father is right here, madam," Harry pointed out, glaring at Professor Burbage.

"Allow us to show you our world, Mr. Wayne," she insisted gently, also glaring at her co-worker. "Allow us to show you what you can learn, what you can achieve, with magic that cannot be gained otherwise."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" his father demanded.

"By taking you to Diagon Alley," Deputy Headmistress McGonagall suggested.

"And where is this Diagon Alley?"

"In London."

Bruce turned to stare at his son. "It's your decision."

Harry eyed the two women warily. He knew that they would not just leave him alone. He thought about it for several minutes.

"Are we going to take the plane?" he asked his father.

"It is always faster than flying commercial," he answered.

"Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Burbage, while I am displeased with your answers in regards to why I should attend Hogwarts, I'll allow that I'm curious to learn more. Will it be acceptable for the four of us to meet within four days' time?"

"It is, Harry," Deputy Headmistress McGonagall answered quietly. "We shall await your owl dictating the time and place of our meeting."

Without another word on the subject, she and Professor Charity Burbage vanished before their eyes with twin cracks.

"My word, how extraordinarily rude," Alfred snapped, placing his hands on his hips. "Do they not know that one must exit through the entrance of one's home?"

"Apparently not, Alfred," Harry agreed.

"They completely ignored the rules that we live by," his father acknowledged. "I understand that they are from a foreign country and a foreign culture but that does not excuse their behaviour."

"They certainly seemed full of themselves, that's for sure," Harry said. "Calling us 'Muggles'! I've never been so insulted."

His father smiled faintly at him.

"They kept calling me 'Potter'." He broke free of his father's gentle hold and began pacing in front of them. "Did you see the look on their faces when I told them that it's 'Wayne'? You'd think I'd committed some sort of crime."

"Harrison," Bruce began timidly. "If you wish …"

"Don't you dare!" Harry snarled, pausing in mid stride to glare at him. "I have magic. So what? It doesn't mean anything to me. The name Potter doesn't mean anything to me. Even with that letter from Albus whatshisname none of it matters."

"You still wish to travel to London?"

He frowned. He would not deny his piqued curiosity about wanting to know more about the magical world; he knew that he would encounter witches and wizards with the same beliefs as Professor Burbage and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. He despised the political games that Mayor Hill played with his father and he could not help but feel that these games would be paramount in the magical world. He saw no harm in agreeing to venture to Diagon Alley to learn more about this new world he now found himself a part of.

"I think it would be interesting," he said, his head cocked to the side. "It does not mean that I'll attend Hogwarts but I'd like to see the magical world."

His father nodded.

**Author's notes:**

**Minor edits 20/09/12.  
**

Questions? Comments? Please share your thoughts with me.

1. Professor Charity Burbage is a minor character in the Harry Potter series of books and it is never stated what her blood type or status is within the magical world; we only know that she is murdered by Voldemort at the very beginning of the Seventh book and that she taught Muggle Studies. Considering that this is fan fiction, I am taking some liberties and using her vague background to my advantage. You will learn more about her in future chapters.


	2. Enter the Demon's Assassin

Part II: Enter the Demon's Assassin_  
_

_London, England._

_ July 26__th__, 02:36 a.m. GMT.  
_

_ Wayne penthouse. _

Harry's emerald eyes flew open and he waited patiently for his vision to adjust to the full darkness of his bedroom. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, alerting him to an unknown presence within his room. He strained his ears, listening for any noise in particular that he knew should not belong here. There. He could hear the sound of someone's heavy breathing. He did not recognize it as belonging to his father or Alfred; his father would not sneak into his room except for a training exercise and, even then, he always told Harry he would (not the specific day or time, mind). Alfred would never enter his room at night without knocking for permission first simply due to the fact that he considered it extremely bad etiquette. His muscles tensed beneath his bed sheets. Awareness of the situation he now found himself in burned away the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. Tilting his head to the side, pressing his ear against the cool pillow, he allowed his gaze to wander around the room; he did not fear the dark: for him, the dark promised safety. He caught movement at the very last second before an enormous shadow fell across his form; this shadow would not comfort him.

"Move another muscle, Wayne," a voice hissed next to his ear, "and I shall stain these sheets red with your blood."

Harry tensed when the familiar weight of cold metal pressed against his throat, the blade sharp enough to pierce his skin and leave a small trickle of blood running down his neck. He immediately recognized the form of the man looming above him. Built like a pro wrestler, Ubu, second-in-command to the League of Shadows, was Ra's al Ghul's personal guard. All the years of training and discipline vanished from the forefront of his mind as full-blown panic took a hold of him. His breathing increased until he panted for breath. He could hear a loud roaring filling his ear drums. His heart hammered in his breast; he could feel it pounding against his ribcage. Unless he could calm down and find a way to alert his father, the assassin would kidnap him and attempt to murder him as he had three years ago. He shuddered violently at the memory, which caused the knife to bite deeper into his flash. He gagged, tasting blood on his tongue.

Ra's al Ghul, an international criminal whose ultimate goal would be a world in perfect environmental balance, wanted to destroy Gotham. Fifteen years ago he might have succeeded but he never would now; Batman always foiled his plans and, with Robin to help him, proved himself a worthy adversary. Ra's al Ghul prided himself on being one to learn from his mistakes; to annihilate Gotham, he first needed to break the Bat: and to do that meant to target his children. His assassins kidnaped both him and his older brother, Dick. For several days the two of them endured endless torture until Batman located them; he battled both Ra's and Ubu ferociously to protect his sons from them.

Tears burned his eyes but he refused to cry, to show weakness, in front of the ultimate assassin. His body flashed with the memory of phantom pain; he swore that each scar burned threateningly and his bones ached where Ubu snapped them. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, desperately fighting the panic attack that wanted to consume him. The blade pressed to his throat did not seal his fate; until he drew his last dying breath, he could – and would – fight for his life. And slowly, so slowly, the panic faded, replaced by the familiar calm that overtook him just before he joined Batman in the heat of battle. His muscles vibrated with renewed strength as adrenaline surged through his body, heightening his senses. The roaring in his ears softened until he could only hear the regular sounds of the building creaking and groaning and Ubu's excited panting. The moment could not be more perfect for him and he seized the opportunity presented to him. He shoved his hand up and against Ubu's forearm, shattering the bone; during impact, the blade went flying from his fingertips. Harry leapt out of bed, slamming his body into the bigger man's; the force of the shove carried both of them backward and Ubu careened into the wall, his head breaking through solid plaster.

"Dad!" Harry screamed at the top of his lungs. "DAD!"

His father flung the door to his bedroom open and rushed to his side, placing himself protectively between the assassin and his son, a Batarang held at the ready in his right hand. Paternal rage etched his father's handsome features into stone cold fury; his blue eyes blazed with a fire he rarely saw and his lips drew back in a ferocious snarl as he bared his teeth. Harry sniffed but he could not stop the sudden flow of tears that scalded his cheeks. In one swift move he found himself pressed against his father's chest, the man's hand stroking his hair lightly while the other held him close to his body. He didn't hear the murmured words of comfort; he only pressed his face into his father's chest and inhaled deeply, allowing that familiar scent to comfort him in a way that nothing else could. For several moments the two remained in each other's arms before his father tilted his head upward. His fingers barely brushed the skin of his throat as he carefully yet gently examined the still-bleeding wound.

Alfred knelt next to him; startling him violently enough that his father tightened his hold against him instinctively.

"I apologize, Master Harry," the valet murmured. "I did not mean to frighten you."

As with every other incident in which his father found him battered and bleeding, the man refused to leave Harry's side. He drew back enough to allow Alfred to tend to the overly long, thin cut that sliced across his throat but he did not remove his hands from the boy's shoulders. He hissed between his teeth when Alfred poured the antiseptic against his raw skin, the alcohol bubbling and fizzing white for several seconds. Finally, he smeared gauze over the red scratch and applied two layers of cotton bandaging.

"Good boy," his father whispered, nuzzling his cheek.

Harry bit his lip and forced his gaze downward; he did not deserve his father's praise after he nearly panicked at the sight of Ubu standing over him. Robin would have never allowed the assassin to get that close to him but Harrison Wayne needed to maintain his identity as a rich billionaire's son. He could defend himself and his father expected him to (if the situation allowed) but only if he would end up not jeopardizing his role as Gotham's Boy Wonder.

"Harrison?" his father questioned. "It's all right, son. You're safe now."

"I p-panicked," the boy stuttered, admitting what he saw as a great failure. "I p-panicked and I w-was af-afraid."

"Oh, Harrison," his father sighed, tightening his hold around him. "It's perfectly normal for you to be afraid of Ubu after what happened to you in Dubai. Fear _can_ be a good thing, however. It will keep you alert and well aware of your surroundings." He pressed two fingers to Harry's lips when the boy opened his mouth to retort. "You have no need to feel shame or guilt over what happened. It is not your fault. _He_ attempted to kidnap you. _He_ attempted to murder you. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he whispered.

Gently cupping his chin, he forced Harry to look up into his eyes.

"It is _not_ your fault," he stated sternly, wanting him to understand that he truly did not blame him.

"But I'm Robin!" the boy exclaimed. "I should've been able to stop him!"

"You weren't Robin at the time," his father said softly. "And you _did_ stop him, my son. Do you not understand that you have done something truly admirable?"

"He said that I'd never amount to anything, that you took me in out of charity," Harry mumbled.

His father stiffened.

"Is that what he said?" the man growled, his voice dangerously close to resembling that of the Dark Knight.

Harry refused to answer.

"How long have you been thinking about this, Harrison?" his father asked gently, worry clearly evident in his concerned gaze. He answered his own question. "It wasn't just physical torture, was it? He attempted to sabotage your mind."

Harry clamped his lips firmly shut, silently answering his father's question.

"How can he know what you will amount to?" his father asked, resting his chin on Harry's head. "You have already done so much. Look at the lives you've saved as Robin and will continue to save? That certainly doesn't amount to nothing, not in my opinion. Just to clear the air between us, I did _not_ take you in out of charity. I was not about to allow you to freeze to death on your aunt's doorstep. You are _mine_, Harrison. _My son!_"

Warmth blossomed inside Harry's chest; he tightened his hold around his father's waist and silently wished that he could grasp Batman's cape. He smiled weakly at the thought. Batman would not allow just anyone to touch him – that included all six members of the Justice League; only his sons could clutch his cape without fear of any repercussions. Nightwing continued to do so, much to their father's annoyance and the amusement of everyone that witnessed these rare Bat family moments between the three of them.

"What shall we do about _him_, sir?" Alfred asked (hating to interrupt the heart-warming moment between father and son but unwilling to risk the boy's safety should Ubu awake). He nudged the unconscious man's leg with a booted toe. "Should we alert the authorities?"

"No, Alfred," his father said. "If we bring the police into this they'll ask questions the answers to which we'll be unable to provide. No; this stays between the four of us."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked. "Interrogate him?"

(*)

"You think I will so easily reveal my master's secrets?" Ubu scoffed in heavily accented English. He glared through two swollen black eyes at the man that stood only inches away from him, wary of the knuckles that Bruce cracked. "My master had great plans for you, Infidel."

Harry stiffened; glancing over at his father, he blanched at the expression on the man's face. Jealousy turned the blood in his veins to ice. His father always wore that look on his face when he thought of Talia Head, Ra's al Ghul's daughter. He met the woman at a very young age and he would never forget his first experience with her. Exceptionally beautiful with subtle hints of her Middle-Eastern parentage, she ruled the League of Shadows alongside her father; she shared his vision of wanting to perfect and cleanse the Earth, ridding the planet of humanity (or destroying enough of the planet that her father could rule without fearing rebellion). She cared very little about anyone except, perhaps, for her father and her 'beloved' Bruce Wayne.

Harry's limbs grew numb. His father always acted differently in her presence or when someone mentioned her. He ignored his sons and Alfred, the three most important people in his world, leaving them to their own devices while he rushed off to the other side of the globe to spend time with her. It did not matter that each time he visited her she tried to convince him of the error of his ways. It did not matter that each time he visited her he would never agree to join her in her crusade.

He turned and stalked to the other side of the room, placing as much distance between himself and his father as he could without actually leaving. He folded his arms across his chest and glowered darkly at Ubu, taking a small amount of pleasure in the man's suffering. Anger flooded his system; anger and bitterness. The intimate embrace of moments ago no longer mattered; the fact that the assassin nearly succeeded in murdering him no longer mattered. _Nothing_ mattered in that moment except Talia Head.

"Go on, then!" Harry cried, unable to bear the heat in his father's eyes any longer. "Go on to Saudi, Arabia, or wherever she's hiding!"

"Harrison, what—?"

"Go to her," Harry snarled, anger tightening his throat. He trembled with the emotion. "We both know you're going to. You _always_ go to her!"

"Master Harry, please, calm yourself, my dear boy," Alfred attempted to soothe him by placing a comforting arm around his shoulders but Harry shrugged him off, his emerald eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Just go!" he cried again. "After all, what do _you_ care?"

"That is enough, Harrison," his father snapped.

And Harry smirked, painful triumph glittering in his eyes.

"You see? You see! You _don't_ care. Not about me or Alfred or Dick or – or anyone except her!"

He did not try to run when his father strode across the room to where Harry stood with his back pressed against the wall. He flinched violently when the man settled his enormous hands on his shoulders and knelt in front of him so that he could stare at his son's eyes on level ground. The boy writhed. He did not want to be lied to; he did not want to believe that his father loved him whereas reality proved that he actually did not. He ignored the warm fingers that cupped his cheeks, the fingers that bent his head downward, forcing him to stare at the man evenly. He flinched at the gentle thumbs that so tenderly stroked away the tears that he cried. He fought valiantly, beating his fists against the warm chest that pressed against his own. He struggled not to succumb; he would never allow his father's scent to trick him again.

"Be still, you silly boy," Batman rumbled and Harry immediately obeyed; he knew that he could trust the Dark Knight. "_Harry_, do you really think that I don't care about you?"

"You love her m-more," he sobbed uncontrollably into his father's chest. "You always c-choose her over u-us."

"I never have, Harrison," his father soothed, rubbing smooth circles against his child's back. "I never have."

Harry's sobs only deepened.

"Listen to me, Harrison," the older man ordered, drawing back enough that he could stare into the boy's heartbroken emerald eyes (and _how_ he loved those eyes). "I have never and I will never choose Talia over any of you. You are my _son_, just as Richard is my son and Alfred is no less important to me than the two of you are."

"You are fooling yourself if you believe a word that he says, Boy Wonder," Ubu stated, his eyes glittering maliciously. "You know that he cares for no one save my mistress. Why do you fool yourself with these childish desires of yours? Can you not see that no good comes from them?"

Harry stared over his father's shoulder at the assassin; Ubu sat on the enormous sofa calmly despite the cable that bound his wrists and ankles – he even seemed to be _lounging_: with his back pressed against the fluffy pillows and his legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. A malevolent smile curled his lips. His eyes glittered coldly. Harry visibly shrank beneath that volatile gaze.

"Look at me, Harry."

Batman's commanding rumble burned away the fog in his brain and he turned his head to comply with the man's orders.

"That's right, Harry," Batman praised gently. "I want you to keep looking at me and only me."

Ubu laughed.

"Do you really think that that will save him?" The assassin guffawed, amusement etching his roguish features. "You will not always be able to protect him, Brucie, and the day that you aren't is the day I'll be waiting for."

"_Silence!_" Harry's father commanded. He gripped his shoulders and squeezed them once in reassurance then he stood up and strode across the room. He halted in front of the second-in-command of the League of Shadows; the two stared at each other for several minutes, neither saying a word. Harry caught the flash of his father's wrist and he wrapped his fingers around the man's throat, deadly serious now. "You have intimidated and frightened my son, you have driven him to the point of tears and you have caused him to doubt my love for him. You will stay away from my son, Ubu, because if you don't I will find you and I will hurt you. Badly." He jerked his hand back, freeing the other man. "Now, I want to know why you are here."

The assassin immediately clamped his lips shut.

And Harry could tell that his father suddenly grew tired of the game.

"You _will_ tell me," he hissed, leaning forward until he loomed over his prisoner.

"Or what?" Ubu sneered. "You have nothing to threaten me with, Wayne."

His father's expression changed in to one of cold indifference. He fought not to cackle with glee as he realized that the assassin would quickly learn the error of his ways. _No one_ defied Batman; the petty criminals and the super villains of Gotham knew this from personal experience. You talked when he asked and if you didn't, you hurt.

"_Talk,_" his father commanded for the second time.

"Do you think that I find you frightening, Wayne?" Ubu asked with an air of boredom. "Growling at me and telling me to answer your question simply because you want me to, does not mean that I will. I was taught by the best there is. You cannot intimidate me."

_Never challenge Batman._ He _will_ accept.

"Is that what you believe?" the Dark Knight purred.

Harry glimpsed fear for the first time in the assassin's eyes.

"This is your last chance, Ubu," his father growled. "Talk. Tell me what your master has planned."

"His ultimate goal hasn't changed," Ubu murmured. He stared up at Harry's father, his gaze never straying. "His plans to achieve said goal have changed."

His father tapped his fingers against his jaw thoughtfully.

"How is he planning to go about it?"

"I am but a humble assassin …" he began.

"Do not play coy with me!" the Dark Knight snarled.

Ubu shrugged.

"I have nothing to hide and my master never stated whether I should tell you of his plans or not," he said.

"You might save yourself a severe amount of pain then, Mr. Ubu," Alfred began coldly. "And tell us what Ra's al Ghul has planned."

Ubu's eyes sparkled maliciously. Harry's gut twisted. How he _loathed_ these games …

"Very well." The assassin nodded. "I see no reason _not_ to tell you."

His father folded his arms across his chest, frowning warningly at the man that recently attempted to murder his son.

"The British Meta – or magical – community is very different from that of North America. They place an exponential amount of worth on their bloodlines here. They also believe themselves incredibly superior to those without the Meta or magical gene," he started to explain. "My master plans to bring the world to its knees through this small community of people."

"How?"

"I am not entirely certain," Ubu murmured thoughtfully. "I believe that he plans to infiltrate one of their Meta or magical schools by sending one of our spies to teach there."

"And how will that bring the world to its knees?" his father asked with an arched eyebrow.

Ubu smiled cruelly.

"That would be telling, Infidel."

"What school are you planning to infiltrate?"

"A place called Hogwarts."

Harry and his father shared a look.

**Author's notes:**

**Minor edits 05/10/2012.  
**

Questions? Comments? Please share your thoughts.

1. In the graphic novels, Ubu is Ra's al Ghul's personal body guard. For the purpose of this story, I have once again used that to my advantage. I would assume that being Ra's' personal body guard he would know how to kill as well as how to run the League of Shadows, so that's why I have him as the League's greatest assassin right below Ra's himself and his daughter Talia.


	3. It's Just Good Business

Part III: "It's Just Good Business"_  
_

_London, England._

_July 28__th__, 10:00 a.m. GMT._

_Gringotts Wizarding bank._

Bruce Wayne wanted to admit that he found himself impressed but that would be a blatantly obvious lie; he simply would _not_ compare Diagon Alley to both the Hall of Justice and the Watchtower. Designed by several of the world's greatest architects and built down to the blueprint's minute details, the Hall of Justice represented international unity; delegates and ambassadors from around the globe held conferences and meetings with members of the Justice League here. Its guardians strictly enforced neutrality between visiting nations; any form of hostility, be it harassment or a threat against a specific person, would find that individual politely escorted off the property. While not a part of the American government (though it _was_ affiliated with it), the Hall offered employment options; clerical workers and administrative assistants mostly, aiding with the scheduling of assemblies and congregations. The Hall of Justice served one other purpose and this one entirely menial by nature: a tourist attraction. All proceeds of the profits gained by opening the Hall of Justice to the public, divided into equal shares, went to charities throughout the United States. The Justice League agreed to grant the public access to certain sections of the Hall because they wanted the world to view them as equals and _not_ powerful gods that acted for their own personal gain. A large, rectangular hall boasted the Justice League's accomplishments. Brass statues of the Original Seven lined the far wall, their figures imposing yet breathtaking, each one representing the symbol of justice in its rawest form. Placed strategically around the gallery trophy cases displayed objects that once belonged to their rivals; one held the armor of one of Darkseid's agents from Apokolips and another contained the mind control devices created by the Light.

One of the best kept secrets in the world and the crowning achievement of the Justice League, an orbiting satellite called the Watchtower stood as its main headquarters and the planet's first line of defence against invasion. Constructed entirely of promethium, it used highly advanced Martian, Thanagarian, Kryptonian and Earth technology. The Monitor Womb, which stretched the entire center of the complex and served as the heart of the Watchtower, housed the League's vast computer/communications/sensor network; multiple holographic displays arrayed all crisis points. Despite the revolving assignments of monitor duty, Martian Manhunter often volunteered for the position because of his unique Martian biology, which allowed his telekinetic powers to attune to the tower's computer systems. The space station provided its own source of oxygen thanks to its hydroponics – an environment that contained flora from several foreign planets with greatly efficient photosynthesis; the clear glass that encircled the forest could be viewed from the central core of the Watchtower all the way up to its uppermost level. An enormous aquarium served as Aquaman's private quarters and displayed marine life from other worlds. Adjacent to one another, the armory and hanger could only be accessed by a member of the League; holding specialized equipment and Javelins (their mode of transportation), they did not want any accidents happening here. With its own Med-Lab and several laboratories, the League did not have to worry about procedure or threats against one of them while they lay recuperating. Of course, the Watchtower would not be complete without its own specialized holographic training room.

No, Bruce could never compare Diagon Alley to the Watchtower because he knew that magic would never outshine what he glimpsed every time the League assigned him to monitor duty. Staring out the glass windows that overlooked the planet below, he realized just how small and insignificant Earth seemed in retrospect to the multiple he'd visited on League business. Space stretched out before him, vast, expansive and all-encompassing, and that humbled him to know just how _small_ they seemed. Billions of stars, of planets, of galaxies filled space with life, light and colour. But nothing – _nothing_ – could compare to the sight of watching the sun rise over Earth_._ The light virtually transformed into liquid gold, igniting the shadowed planet into one of brilliant shades of blue and green. The deep blue of the water blazed from navy to sapphire and finally to royal blue; the currents bounced the filtering sunlight back up at him and he found that his planet sparkled with lustre far prettier than any gem he could ever purchase at a jewellery store.

"What are you thinking about?" Harrison asked him curiously.

"Professor Burbage keeps attempting to show off how wonderful magic is," he explained, "but no magic in the world can compare to the beauty of our planet being bathed in sunlight. It is truly a sight to behold and certainly does not compare to … _this_."

His lip curled with disgust. Bruce craved law and order; the need to prevent a child from suffering the fate that befell him drove him to fight against the corruption and bigotry that controlled all of Gotham. His dream would only become reality when the city's police force learned to care about its victims, when the rich bureaucracy realized that their money would remain forever tainted with the blood of the innocent. He donned the cape and cowl every night for _them_, the citizens that would never have a say because of the crime-lords that instilled fear into their hearts or the super-criminals that thrived in a world of chaos and despair. The Joker continuously tried to blow up the city – not because he wanted money or even notoriety (honestly, who _hasn't_ heard of The Joker?) – But because he found it _funny._ The Industrial District in East Gotham bore the brunt of Joker's deranged machinations; the Steel Mill resembled some twisted House of Fun. Diagon Alley contradicted everything that Professor Burbage told them about magic; the crowded side street, bustling with life, awoke the predator sleeping within him. He watched witches and wizards dressed in extravagantly coloured robes bustle about their business; unless someone recognized a friend, they ignored the other bodies that surrounded them. Vendors standing in brightly decorated stalls called out the prices of their wares to passers-by; children tugged on their mothers' hands and begged for the latest model broomstick. The tiny shops and cafés that lined the cobbled street only fit together because magic allowed them too; the second levels of a few buildings leaned over the first floors' entranceways and he swore that he saw one of them swaying. Oh, yes, The Joker would love the chaotic order of the magical world; he would have no need to destroy it; he would merely expand upon it.

Professor Burbage escorted the three of them through the winding, cobbled street toward an enormous white building that towered above all of the others in the Alley. Unlike the surrounding ramshackle structures that stood up only because of the support of magic, Gringotts appeared to follow the building's safety regulations. A strange-looking creature stood beside the huge brass double doors; short and stout, he carried himself with pride, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold. When the Muggle Studies teacher approached him, he bowed her through and saluted to the three men that accompanied her; Bruce nodded to him politely. A second set of doors appeared before them, these silver, with words of warning written upon its surface. A pair of goblins once more bowed the four of them through and they emerged in a vast marble hall. He realized that this could only be the magical equivalent of a modern-day bank. One hundred goblins sat upon high stools behind a counter that line the wall directly in front of them; several scribbled in large ledgers, others examined precious stones through strange eyeglasses and a few weighed coins in brass scales. Doors off the hall could only lead to their offices, he guessed. Here Professor Burbage turned and explained to them all about their Wizarding bank, her tone becoming mocking when she mentioned that goblins handled everything.

"One of them will take you down to your vault," she said, addressing Harrison and completely ignoring both he and Alfred. "Minerva and I have some business to attend to on behalf of Albus Dumbledore. We'll meet you here, in the lobby, once we're done."

Bruce's hands clenched into fists at his sides and his expression became unreadable. With his playboy persona in effect, he could easily accept the arrogance of Gotham's elite society; no one would dare snub Gotham's prized son. Several of his coworkers treated him with disdain because of his lack of super strength or a ring that endowed him with enough power to cripple the entire planet; no one would dare disobey a direct order from Batman. That this woman believed herself above him simply because she could perform magic tried his patience. She insulted him at every opportunity that presented itself to her; she took delight in reminding him of his status as a second-glass citizen and she enjoyed rubbing his nose in the fact that she found him an unsuitable surrogate father for Harry Potter. She wanted him to understand that many _Wizarding_ families would happily adopt Harry Potter and raise him the way a proper wizard should behave.

"Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted his thoughts politely. "Perhaps we should take some of the advice the lovely Professor Burbage suggested and learn more about Master Harry's inheritance?"

"That's an excellent idea, Alfred," he agreed.

Walking up to a free goblin, he stated, "Mr. Harry Potter would like to make a withdrawal."

"_Harrison Wayne!_" his son snapped. "Don't _you_ start calling me 'Harry', Dad."

"There is no need to fret, Harrison," Bruce answered, smiling at the relief that flooded his boy's face. "I would never dream of calling you 'Harry'."

"How may I be of assistance to you?" the goblin at the counter asked politely, regaining their attention.

"My son, Harrison, is about to begin his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Bruce explained. "Unfortunately, we know next to nothing about the magical world. One of the school's teachers mentioned that you would be able to assist us in locating my son's vault."

"Did I hear correctly that your name is Harry Potter?" the goblin asked. He peered curiously at the boy from his position behind the counter; his eyes flicked to the lightning bolt scar underneath Harrison's fringe.

"Yes," the boy answered uncomfortably. "But I was legally adopted and had my name changed to Harrison Wayne."

"I take it," the goblin began, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "that this adoption was done legally and via non-magical means?"

"That would be correct." Bruce nodded.

"Lord Wayne, Mr. Wayne, perhaps we should hold any further discussions in my office?" the goblin offered.

"That would be acceptable."

(*)

Griphook led the three them down a corridor away from the main hall and opened a wooden door marked with his name upon it in brass letters. Once inside his office, he gestured for them to sit in the comfortable armchairs that formed a semi-circle around his desk; he offered them tea and biscuits, which they graciously accepted. With everyone's thirst and hunger sated for the time being, he took his seat behind his desk and unrolled the scroll that lay upon its surface. He murmured softly in a language that Bruce did not understand before drawing one long, gnarled finger down the length of the parchment. The room glowed faintly blue for several seconds before the light faded.

"Apologies, Lord Wayne," Griphook said, "but I do believe that you do not want anyone to overhear what it is that we have to discuss, correct? I used a specific form of goblin magic to prevent anyone from eavesdropping on our conversations."

"That's brilliant," Harrison whispered, his voice soft with awe.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce caught his son's eye; the boy could not be more pleased that someone finally adhered to his wishes of being addressed by his _proper_ name.

"Thank _you,_ Griphook," his boy murmured.

The goblin looked at him strangely.

"You're the only one to actually call me 'Mr. Wayne' instead of Harry Potter," his boy explained, his cheeks turning red with discomfort.

"Perhaps I should explain why that is, Mr. Wayne—"

"I know it has to do with my fame," he interrupted the goblin.

"That is only part of the reason, yes," Griphook agreed, "but there is much more to it than that. You must understand that British Wizarding society believe a person's blood to be of more importance than one's actions. Your blood type denotes your status. Potter is one of Britain's Most Noble and Ancient Houses according to the Book of Gold, which contains all written documentation of Pureblood families. Despite James Potter marrying Lily Evans, a Muggleborn witch" – Bruce and Harrison stiffened at the term – "his status remained pure and his name did not change. However, you, Mr. Wayne, share the blood of both James and Lily Potter. This means that your name is written in both the Book of Gold and the Book of Silver. Technically, by wizard standards, you are half-blood but the fact that your name appears in the Book of Gold means that you are the sole heir to the Potter fortune and whatever else that may entail."

"Is that why Professor Burbage is continuously insulting my father?" Harrison asked.

"Charity Burbage is a Pureblood supremacist," Griphook explained. "She believes, along with most other Purebloods, that those whose names are found in the Book of Silver and Book of Bronze are second-class citizens and do not deserve to be taught to harness their magic. That you, Lord Wayne, possess no magical ability whatsoever, only adds insult to her ego. If Half-bloods and Muggleborns are unworthy of learning about magic, that just goes to show that they view non-magical folk as _objects_ rather than _people_. Mind you," the goblin said, stroking his chin, "there are exceptions to every rule and not all Purebloods believe in this supremacy nonsense."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Think about it logically, Mr. Wayne," Griphook advised. "In the magical world, you are known as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Your story is legend. There is not a child in this world who doesn't know your name. A witch like Charity Burbage, who places all of a person's value in their blood status, has been deeply insulted to learn that the Wizarding world's hero has been raised by a man without magic. And so she offends your father in an attempt to force him to see reason – _her_ reason. And this leads me to the reason that we are here: Mr. Wayne's adoption."

"It's legal, I assure you," Bruce stated coldly, leaning forward aggressively in his seat.

"Is there an issue with Master Harry's guardianship?" Alfred asked curiously. Bruce caught his eye and the man he considered a second father motioned subtly for him to calm down. "I was present and a witness to Master Bruce signing the adoption papers."

"Please, calm yourselves, Lord Wayne, Master Pennyworth, I believe you," the goblin soothed. "I am merely waiting for one of my associates to bring forward some paperwork and then we will be able to continue our discussion of Mr. Wayne's formal adoption."

They did not wait long; a sharp knock on Griphook's door announced the arrival of his associate with the required paperwork.

"Now," the goblin began, "while the adoption is legal in the non-magical world, Charity Burbage or another Pureblood may wish to contest it. Given her status, she is legally within her rights to do so."

"And what would happen if Professor Burbage were to contest Master Bruce's guardianship of Master Harry?" Alfred asked.

"If Miss. Burbage _were_ to contest Lord Wayne's guardianship over Mr. Wayne, then an official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would be forced to look into the situation. Unfortunately, the British magical government does not have a department allocated to child services. If the official sent to investigate Lord Wayne's treatment of Mr. Wayne discovered Miss. Burbage's accusations to be sound, your son would be removed from you and given into government custody. He would become a ward of the country until such time as the government found him a suitable family."

Bruce could not control the wave of fear that swept over his body when Griphook mentioned the possibility of losing his son. His fingers clenched around the smooth material of the armrests and the muscles in his chest tightened; adrenaline pumped through his veins, heightening his senses. He jerked his head to the side when a small hand fell on top of his and he stared into his son's beautiful emerald eyes. He did not remember seeing the boy walk over to him. Harrison brushed his fingers over the backs of his hands until Bruce finally discerned the message.

"Lord Wayne, I can see the great affection you hold for your son," Griphook politely interrupted the moment between father and son. "Even though you are treating your son the way a father should treat his child, the government may still remove him from your care because you are not a Pureblood wizard. If that is to be the case, I can only think of two options that are available to us."

"What is it you suggest, Griphook?" Bruce asked, shifting his gaze from his son to meet the ancient eyes of the goblin. "Tell me what I have to do to keep my son."

"Your first option is to contact Mr. Wayne's magical guardian," he said. "Each child that is born to non-magical parents is contacted by their Wizarding guardian. This guardian then helps the child acclimate to their new world; the guardian is a mentor, if you will. They show their child where to purchase school supplies, where their money is being kept within Gringotts and they take them to the Hogwarts Express on September 1st. The child has a magical guardian for as long as they have need of them. In other circumstances, such as Mr. Wayne's case, James and Lily Potter chose a wizard to act as his magical guardian. His magical guardian is charged with following through the Potters will."

"There was no will when I found Harrison," Bruce murmured. "I spent weeks searching for any sign of Mr. and Mrs. Potter but never found anything relative."

"Curious," the goblin murmured. "I do believe … Yes. I do believe that I have a copy of Mr. and Mrs. Potter's will here with me."

Griphook leafed through the papers in the file and then handed a stack over to Bruce; he immediately flipped to the witness signatures. He recognized one name in particular. Setting the paper down on the goblin's desk, he tapped the signature.

"When I found Harrison, there was a letter pinned to his blanket," he explained. "This man had written it."

"Do you happen to have a copy of the letter, Lord Wayne?"

Bruce hesitated.

"I swear to you, Lord Wayne, that what we discuss will not leave this room," the goblin avowed. The room immediately blazed with golden light, holding him to his oath. "It is done. Unless you give me written permission to share what we discuss, nothing said will leave this room."

Reluctantly, he reached inside his breast pocket and handed over the letter. After Ubu's assassination attempt of his son, he did not want anyone to discover the letter written to Harrison's relatives. The office remained silent for several minutes while Griphook read and reread the letter.

"Do you realize what this contains?" he asked Bruce, and he noted that the goblin's voice trembled with rage.

"I do," he said, direly serious.

"Blood wards … a mother's sacrifice … protection … a prophecy …" The goblin mumbled to himself as he read the letter for a third time and then set it down upon his desk. He cast gaze in Harrison's direction. "Are you aware of this letter's contents?"

"Yes," his son replied. "My father showed me the letter a few years ago."

"Do you know what it means?"

"I didn't know whether it was fact or fiction," Bruce said, "but I wanted my son to know how he found himself under my care."

"Lord Wayne, I must say that it is a very good thing indeed that you adopted young, Mr. Wayne," Griphook said earnestly. "The Potters' will clearly states that he was not to be raised by Petunia Dursley nee Evans. I assume the address given, a number four Privet Drive, is where you found him?"

He nodded once.

"Lord Wayne, I can assure you that there is no such thing as blood wards, or that a mother's sacrifice will reinforce those wards." The goblin shook his head and, for the first time, he looked angry. "I would never have expected this of the great Albus Dumbledore."

"I don't understand," Harrison whispered.

"Voldemort murdered hundreds of families, Mr. Wayne," the goblin said. "I do not doubt for one minute that many mothers and fathers begged or sacrificed themselves for their children's lives. Please do not misunderstand what I am saying, young man, but I find it truly hard to believe that your mother's sacrifice alone managed to tip the scales in the war."

"What about his scar?" Bruce asked.

"That scar is definitely proof that there is some ancient form of magic at work here but whether it is because of Mr. Wayne or his parents' sacrifice, I cannot say," Griphook murmured.

"And the prophecy?"

"From my experience, I have learned that true prophecies are exceptionally rare and far between. I can have one of my associates check and see if it is legitimate or not," the goblin offered. He read over the few lines of the prophecy. "This does not sound like a true prophecy to me. True prophecies are longer and riddled with far more details. No, I think this is the machinations of an old wizard seeking to relive his glory days through you, Mr. Wayne."

"And this man – this Albus Dumbledore was it? – is my son's magical guardian?" Bruce demanded.

"Yes." Griphook nodded. "The Potters appointed him as Mr. Wayne's guardian at his bidding." He flipped through the Potters' will and then tapped a paragraph that he wanted Bruce to read. "They trusted him and were members of the resistance known as the Order of the Phoenix. It is a shame they did not realize that the man they placed so much faith in has turned out to be a manipulative old codger."

"And he is Harrison's Headmaster?" Bruce growled in the back of his throat, the predator flashing in his blazing blue eyes. Surging to his feet, he began to pace up and down the length of the office. "You are not to be alone with him, Harrison," he commanded. "Not without myself present or an adult that you trust. Am I clear?"

"Yes, father," he answered meekly.

"What is the second option, Griphook?" he asked. "With this Albus Dumbledore as my son's magical guardian, I will not for one minute contemplate contacting him."

"I can understand your reasons, Lord Wayne," the goblin said, bowing. "Our second and only other option is for you to formally adopt Mr. Wayne by magical means. I will need to contact a member from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but she is discreet and will provide the legal signatures required for our documents. I feel that it is my duty to inform you of the blood ritual the two of you will be forced to partake in."

"Blood ritual?"

"Formally, when a family of wizards wishes to adopt a child, there is a private ceremony where they share blood with the Lord and Lady of the house. It is only a small amount but the blood signifies that the Lord and Lady truly view the child as a member of their own family," Griphook explained.

"No."

"But I say yes!"

"Harrison!" Bruce rounded on his son, his teeth flashing, and fire blazing in his blue eyes. "We've had this discussion before. You know how I feel about this."

"If it's the only way for me to stay your son, Dad, then I'm not afraid."

"I am not questioning your bravery, my son," Bruce sighed. "This is a decision not to be made lightly. Once you and I share blood, there can be no going back."

"You did it to Dick," Harrison argued with a pout.

"Your brother is 19. You are 10."

"Lord Wayne, I assure the amount of blood shared between the adopter and adoptee is a relatively small amount," Griphook tried to comfort him. "It will leave no lasting effects on your son whatsoever."

"Is it possible to adopt Harrison without the blood ritual?" he asked.

"For the time being, it is," the goblin answered slowly. "But the two of you must formally share blood at some point for the adoption to be complete."

"Fifteen," Bruce said to his son. "Wait until you're fifteen and then I'll abide by whatever decision you choose."

Harrison did not look pleased but, reluctantly, he agreed.

**Author's notes: **

**Minor edits 20/09/12.  
**

Thank you to everyone that has taken the time to review!

Questions? Comments? Please share your thoughts in a review.

1. Griphook refers to Bruce Wayne as Lord Wayne because he is the head of the household; Harry is Mr. Wayne or Master Wayne because he is Bruce's son and while not the heir apparent, he is still an heir to the Wayne legacy.

2. The mention of the Blood Adoption is not filler. There is a reason for its being relative to the story. Unfortunately, you will only learn about it when Harry is 15 although hints will dropped throughout the series to see if readers can figure it out.


	4. It Reminds Me of a Certain Cape

The obligatory chapter where Harry buys his school supplies...

Part IV: "It reminds me of a certain cape..."_  
_

_London, England. _

_July 28__th__, 01:00 p.m. GMT._

_Diagon Alley._

"Now that you have a bag full of gold coins," Bruce drawled, leaning back in his chair lazily, "what is it that you need for school?"

Harry set down his glass of chocolate milk, nibbled the end of a French fry and pulled out the envelope containing his school letter and list of supplies.

"There's actually quite a bit here that I need, Dad," he answered, his eyes trailing down the list. "I need a wand, a cauldron, crystal phials, scales, a telescope, several books and several sets of robes."

Removing his hands from behind his head, Harry's father reached across the table and stole one of his fries, munching on the end thoughtfully. He grinned at the look on the boy's face.

"I suppose we should make purchasing your robes a priority then, Master Harry?" Alfred asked, a twinkle appearing in his eyes.

"Do I _have_ to wear them?" he questioned. He wrinkled his nose as he watched a crowd of witches and wizards walking by the tiny café where they dined. "They look ridiculous."

"If you wish to attend Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," Professor Burbage inserted, "then you must wear robes. They are a part of the school's uniform."

Not for the first time that afternoon Harry glared at the Pureblood witch that sat across from him and beside his father. It did not require a junior detective to notice the woman's not-so-subtle moves in his father's direction. The man acted completely oblivious to her advances; he pushed her hands away when she tried to touch him or would shift his chair further away when she invaded his personal space. Harry caught the message in the man's blue eyes: he did _not_ want her fawning over him.

"If I must," he agreed rather reluctantly. Pushing away from the small table, he rose to his feet gracefully. "Shall we go?"

"For an 11-year-old, you certainly don't talk like one, Mr. Potter," Professor Burbage pointed out. "Are all Yanks as eloquent as you?"

Bruce, Harry and Alfred stiffened.

"Professor Burbage, my father taught me that chivalry is not dead," Harry informed the green-robed witch silkily. "My father is the _fourth richest man on the planet_. It is _expected_ of me to behave with decorum and grace. My mannerisms, however, do not give you the freedom to continuously insult us at every turn!"

"_How dare you_, Mr. Potter?" Professor Burbage shrieked. "I have done nothing but g—"

"Insult us," he finished for her. "You have done nothing but insult us from the day you frightened Alfred."

"You _dare_ interrupt me? You dare interrupt _me_!" she hissed. She shot to her feet, knocking her chair backward in her haste to confront him. She plunged her hand inside her robes. "Mr. Potter, I'll teach you to respect your elders!"

"You will do no such thing."

Harry did not see his father move; he did not need too to understand what happened next. The man stood in front of the woman, his big body blocking her target; he held her wrist in one of his large hands and gripped the end of her wand with the other.

"Never threaten my son again." His voice rumbled with the promise of violence. "I will discipline my son as I see fit. That does not give you the right to draw a wand on an unarmed, untrained youth."

"I – I …" Burbage wilted underneath his father's gaze. Harry merely watched. Batman looked that way at every criminal. "You're right, of c-course. Silly me. W-won't happen again, I assure you."

He released her wrist and shoved her away from him.

"I think we can handle ourselves from here, Professor Burbage."

"But Dumbledore told me to guide you," she protested, her bottom lip quivering.

"I believe we can make our own way, thank you," his father informed her coldly. "We no longer have need of you."

"B-but you n-need me!" she howled.

Harry shifted uncomfortably; her loud sobs attracted much unwanted attention.

"Dad," he mumbled. "People are staring."

"Then it is time for us to take our leave."

Without another word, he set his hand on Harry's shoulder and steered him away from the café, Alfred walking along at a slightly slower pace behind them.

(*)

"Sirs, I do believe that Master Harry should be able to purchase his school robes here." Alfred gracefully pointed to a petite shop in front of them with the words _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_ written in cursive gold across the French windows.

"Shall we?" Bruce asked, gesturing for his son to enter ahead of him.

"Hogwarts, dear?" Madam Malkin, a pleasant witch dressed all in purple, asked when the three of them entered.

"Indeed," Bruce purred, turning on the infamous Wayne charm. "However, my son is not the only one requiring a set of robes."

"Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Well, we have a variety of styles and colours to choose from Mr. …?"

"Wayne, Bruce Wayne, and black will do just fine, thank you."

Turning around, the witch dragged Harry to the back of the room, where another boy was being outfitted, and mumbled to herself, "Black, such a dreary colour. I should just invite Severus Snape here. We could have a party."

Harry chuckled.

"Now, hold still, lad," she said pleasantly. She tossed a robe over his head and poked him several times with her wand. "Wait here. I'll be back in a minute."

And, with that, she dashed back toward the spot where his father and Alfred waited.

"Oh, hullo," said a boy standing on a stool beside Harry. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes." Harry nodded.

"I say, do you know what House you'll be in? I know _I_'ll be in Slytherin. My entire family's been in Slytherin for generations." The arrogant boy strongly reminded Harry of his year mates at Gotham Academy back home. "Of course, there _is_ a chance you could end up in Gryffindor." The boy shuddered emphatically. "I think I would just leave if I was Sorted amongst _that_ lot." He sneered. "My father says there is nothing worse than being a Gryffindor."

"And how would you know if you've never been Sorted into Gryffindor?" Harry asked the other boy curiously. "Is it not a bit egotistical of you to say such a thing?"

The boy turned around fully to face him.

"Just who _are_ you?" he demanded. "Certainly not a Pureblood by the way you're talking to me. In fact – are you even British? Your accent sounds foreign."

"I was born in England," Harry informed him coldly, "but I was raised in Gotham."

"Gotham?" the boy frowned as though trying to think if he heard the name before. "I've never heard of it."

Harry fought not to stare open-mouthed at this boy.

"Gotham is in the United States of America," he said carefully.

"Well," the boy sneered, "Hogwarts _must_ be desperate if they're letting a Yank come to the school."

"And what's wrong with me being an American?" Harry demanded furiously.

"My father says that the wizards over there actually mingle with the Muggles and that they know all about magic." He laughed haughtily.

Harry suddenly stood up straighter, his shoulders squaring and he jerked his chin upward stubbornly. Yes, North America knew that magic existed; in a world of Super Heroes and power-hungry criminals, how could they not?

Just when he opened his mouth to respond, rather rudely, Madam Malkin returned.

"Getting along fine, are we, boys?" she asked. Her tone of voice brooked no refusal. Both boys nodded mutely. "Good." She turned to Harry. "I must say, lad, that your father looks rather dashing."

Harry twisted round until he could see his father at the other end of the shop, dressed entirely in black and wearing expensive robes. He snickered.

"And just what do you find so amusing?" the man asked him, arching an eyebrow.

"Nothing." Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I was just thinking how that robe reminds me of a certain _cape_ back home."

Wrapping the material in both hands, Bruce turned, flaring the ends of the robe until they billowed around him.

"Hmm, that's definitely more my style."

Harry couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. His father winked at him.

"Master Bruce, Master Harry," Alfred scolded his two charges but his eyes twinkled.

"Who's _that_?" the boy beside Harry asked.

"That's Alfred," he answered, smiling fondly at the man he considered his grandfather. "He's great!"

"But he _is_ your servant, right?" the other boy said, peering intently at him.

"He's a valet, whatever that means," he corrected him. "And, yes, Dad pays him but he's so much more than just that. Alfred is … Alfred."

"I say, you are quite the strange American wizard aren't you?"

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

His father walked up to stand behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders; the boy groaned. Even his robes, his father managed to pull off the fact that he was an attractive man. He wouldn't be surprised if a bunch of witches started drooling over him in public.

"What's with the look?" the older man asked.

Harry merely raised an eyebrow; Bruce laughed.

"What? You think I'm going to chase Selina around in robes?"

"Wouldn't surprise me."

"Impudent brat!" But the man merely squeezed his shoulders affectionately.

"That's why you love me."

Bruce smiled at him through his reflection in the mirror.

"Alright, you two," Madam Malkin said, bustling over to them. "You're done. Now, shoo."

(*)

"_Duck!_"

Harry dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, his hand instinctively reaching for the Birdarang in his belt – only to realize that he didn't carry his weapons when he wore his civilian clothes. Something white and translucent shot out of the back of its cage and dove to where he crouched. The tiny animal wove its talons into his polo shirt and refused to let go.

"Sorry about that!" A friendly-looking witch emerged from her hiding spot behind the counter. "Amriya's normally really very shy." She walked toward Harry, her hands outstretched. "I'll take her from you, now."

The little creature pressed itself closer to his chest, quivering.

"No," he said quickly. "That's all right."

He cupped his hand around the quivering animal and gently pried it away from his shirt. It hooked its talons around his wrists and then wrapped its claws around his forearms. Lifting its head, it pushed its snout forward.

"It figures," he said, laughing. "It really, really figures."

"What does?"

He showed the witch.

"She's a fruit bat. My father and I kind of have a _thing_ for bats."

The witch smiled. "She likes you."

"I noticed."

"Well, if you're looking to buy her, I'll sell her to you for 5 galleons. It's about time the poor girl went to live with a deserving family." She reached over and scratched the albino bat's head affectionately. "Her name is Amriya."

Harry frowned darkly. "Why would anyone name her that?"

"I think it sounds pretty."

He shook his head. "It's Romani. It means 'curse'."

The witch squeaked and covered her mouth with her hands. "How awful!"

Harry ignored her and tenderly stroked the bat's fluffy chest. "Yes," he said, turning to face her, "I'll take her."

(*)

When his father saw the bat, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. Everyone in Gotham knew that Bruce Wayne feared bats but Amriya refused to fall into that category. She remained obediently in her cage until Harry took her out and she hung from his arm; she stretched her wings and yawned before blinking her blue eyes at Bruce. Slowly but definitely not timidly Bruce reached a hand and stroked her white chest. The little bat preened, clicking happily.

"I think she likes you, Master Bruce," Alfred said, trying to keep a straight face.

"He's the alpha bat, of course she likes him!" Harry giggled.

Bruce looked rather affronted. "Alpha bat?"

"Well, you are!" his son claimed.

His father frowned at him.

"Don't look at me like that. I just pointed out the facts. It's not my fault if you don't like them."

Alfred coughed; it sounded strangely like a snicker.

"I can still fire you, Alfred," Bruce threatened his oldest friend.

The valet straightened, a twinkle in his eyes. "Ah, Master Bruce, if you did that, there are so very many secrets I could divulge to the Gotham Gazette. And one Miss. Vale…"

"I take it back!" He threw his hands up in surrender. "I take it back!"

Both Harry and Alfred laughed.

"Now, what else do we need?" Bruce scanned the list. "We have the robes, we have your familiar … We just need your books." He glanced at his son and Alfred. "Any idea where to find them?"

Harry only laughed harder.

**Author's notes:**

**Minor edits 20/09/12.  
**

Questions? Comments? Please review and tell me what you think. I can't improve if you don't tell me how to do so.

1. This chapter is NOT meant to be taken seriously. Truthfully, it is filler but I also wanted to write a few fluffy scenes between Bruce and Harry before he leaves for Hogwarts next chapter. Chapters shall resume normal length next update.


	5. The Hogwarts Express

Part V: The Hogwarts Express_  
_

_London, England. _

_September 1__st__, 10:30 a.m. GMT._

_King's Cross._

Harry pushed his trolley, loaded with his trunk and Amriya, through the busy station; people stared at him with varying degrees of recognition and curiosity: Bruce Wayne and his sons drew attention no matter where they went. Apart from Gotham, which happened to suffer from a severe Bat infestation, most people only saw the animals on television or in zoos; Amriya, being both a fruit bat and an albino, caused people to stop in their tracks and openly gawk at the three of them. His fingers tightening on the handle of his trolley, he tried to ignore the people staring at him but his cheeks flushed red with self-consciousness – the crowd of people staring at him did not embarrass him, that he could handle; no, he found himself embarrassed because he needed to attend a school for magical children that believed themselves better than ordinary people. The only reason he decided to continue through with the plan was the knowledge that Ra's al Ghul planned to destroy the world through this tiny, tight-knit magical community. Neither he nor his father would allow that to happen and they both agreed that the League would _not_ be involved; Batman considered the Head of the Demon to belong to his Rogues gallery and that meant no outside interference – Meta or otherwise. He silently agreed with his father and the man, sensing his unease, settled a comforting hand on his shoulder. He twisted his head around, smiling gratefully up at him.

Harry narrowed his eyes when a group of people cut across their path in a manner which caused him to jerk his trolley to the side and Amriya to squeak unhappily at the disturbance to her sleep. His father's hand tightened on his shoulder, helping to steady his movements as his trolley swerved dangerously back and forth. Lifting his head, his emerald eyes gleaming furiously, he glared at the family of red heads; glancing up at his father, he caught the man's darkening expression. Four boys, each of varying ages and each dressed in simple yet plain robes, pushed their trolleys ahead of them. One with a trunk that looked rather new also held a caged barn owl and a short, plump woman appeared to be their matriarch because she gestured wildly with her hands and spoke loudly enough for passers-by to hear her,

"– packed with Muggles, of course –"

The youngest and only daughter tugged anxiously on her mother's sleeve, her head swiveling this way and that as she scanned the crowed.

"What is it, Ginny?" the woman snapped, preoccupied.

"Do you see him?" she asked anxiously, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I wonder what all the Muggles are staring at. Oh, do you see him, Mummy? Do you see _Harry Potter?_"

"Not yet," her mother answered. "He should be along any moment. Dumbledore said his relatives agreed to drop him off …"

Harry's expression darkened; his heart hammered in his chest and his knuckles gripping the handle of his cart turned white.

"I can't _wait_ to see him," the girl continued. "I bet he looks just like his picture."

"Please, Ginny, enough," snapped the oldest boy in the group. "You've done nothing but talk about Harry Potter since Professor Dumbledore asked us to meet him here. You'll have your chance to meet him."

"Mum," said a second boy, this one only slightly older than the girl. "I think we'd better go. It's nearly 11."

"Oh, but …" Ginny pouted.

Their mother seemed to agree with her youngest son because she ushered her children toward the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Her oldest casually leaned against the brick wall and, positive that no one (except the two detectives) watched, slid backward. The magical illusion remained firmly in place. One by one, her other children vanished amid the bustling crowd; she paused, one arm around her daughter's shoulders, and glanced around expectantly, but, seeing no sign of Harry Potter, she pushed forward too.

"I think the young lady has a crush on you, Master Harry," Alfred informed him rather coolly.

"I think obsessed is more the correct term," he answered. "That's just plain creepy, Alfred. None of the girls acted like that at Gotham Academy."

The valet turned away, his back stiff. Harry immediately regretted his words.

"Alfred … _Grand pa_ … I'm sorry."

"You silly boy, Master Harry." Alfred spun round gracefully and hugged the boy in a very rare display of affection. "Watch after yourself, young master. I will not be there to tend to your needs."

"I promise, Alfie."

With a curt nod, he walked away several paces to allow Harry the privacy of saying good bye to his father.

"You know that you don't have to go," his father murmured. He looked at him carefully, his expression betraying nothing; only his eyes shimmered with the truth of his strong emotions. "You can stay in Gotham and go to school there."

"Dad." He reached for his hand, squeezing gently. "You and I both know that I have to do this. We can't let Ra's win."

"No. You are right, of course. It's just …" Harry's breath hitched when he saw the tears shining unshed in his father's blue eyes. "It's so _hard_ to let you go."

He stepped forward, eating up the space between them, and wrapped his arms around the man's waist, burying his face into his chest. Inhaling deeply, he wanted to remember the familiar scent that belonged to his father. Immediately, bands of steel encircled his thin frame, holding him close.

"You have you're communicator," he whispered, his voice gruff with unreleased pain. "It should work with the magical wards erected around the castle. You contact me or the League if you need anything."

"I love you, Dad," Harry murmured, hiding his wet cheeks in his father's chest.

The man chuckled, his hold tightening around him subconsciously.

"And I love you, Harrison, so very much, my son."

Father and son drew back and then, with one final glance over his shoulder at the two most important men in his life, Harry pushed his trolley between platforms 9 and 10 and emerged on the other side.

When he saw the scarlet steam engine emerge from the smoke billowing across the dais for the first time he paused to admire its beauty and silently wished for his camera. On the first Saturday of every month, he and his father would spend the majority of the day building and designing model toy trains. The Engine Room in Wayne Manor contained hundreds of the tiny, battery-operated miniatures; exquisitely framed photos of old and modern engines lined all four walls, with new pictures added on a regular basis. Harry enjoyed those Saturdays because he could spend all of his time with his father, by himself, and not need to worry about Dick interrupting or the League intruding. Once they finished building the latest engine, the two would warm up and playfully spar against each other before donning their uniforms to play a game of tag out on the lonely streets of Gotham City. His heart panged painfully in his chest at the knowledge that this would be his first year without that infamous tradition. He jerked his chin upward stubbornly. He was _Robin_, the Boy Wonder! He determined that he _would_ find a way to see his father on a regular basis and continue with his mission to protect the people of Gotham. He would _not_ give up Robin for Hogwarts.

Striding purposely forward, he pushed his trolley behind the crowd of anxious parents and excited children. His emerald eyes scanned the area carefully; he could not ignore the feeling of eyes following his every move. Acting on a childish impulse and breaking one of the first major rules Batman taught him, he turned around to confront his enemy. He jerked with surprise, blinking into a pair of brown eyes that belonged to the little redhead girl he saw earlier. She smiled at him shyly, her cheeks becoming as red as her hair; emotions flashed across her soft features too quick for him to comprehend. He saw her gaze flick to the lightning bolt scar, visible only due to the fact that he gelled his hair back, and then back to his face; she giggled loudly, the sound high-pitched and reminding him of Dick and Barbara together.

"You're him," she whispered.

He arched an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"_Harry Potter!_"

"I believe you have me mistaken for someone else," he informed her coldly. "My name is Harrison Wayne."

"But … But you have the scar," she pointed out physically gesturing to his brow.

"I have many scars. It's part of the package deal when you're kidnapped by Joker or Two Face on a regular basis."

"B-but," she stuttered. "It's shaped like a lightning bolt."

Harry began to grow impatient. Being the son of a world-renowned billionaire, he could handle people from the media and paparazzi staring at him and taking photos of him; while in uniform he rarely lingered for those he saved to even thank him because actions spoke louder than words. He considered seeing a mother embracing her son after being held hostage for over sixteen hours enough.

"You're a hero," the girl persisted. "You defeated You Know Who."

"I am anything but a hero," he assured her. "I know that I alone did not defeat Voldemort. James and Lily Potter died for me but I do not think their sacrifice alone protected me."

"You said _his_ name!" she cried, raising her hands to cover her quivering lips. "You really are very brave, aren't you, Harry?"

"Only my friends have my permission to call me Harry," he snapped. "To you and the rest of the bloody magical world I'm Harrison Wayne."

Tears welled in her brown eyes.

"How can you say that?" she wailed. "All I've read about you! You're the c-chosen o-one! You're destined to s-save us!"

"I am merely a billionaire's son," he growled. She believed the words she spoke; he would not lie in an effort to comfort her. "If your world is in danger, or if you are in danger, I suggest that you contact the Justice League."

Her tears vanished and she pursed her lips, tripping over the unfamiliar words. "Justice League? What's a Justice League?"

"Perhaps if you attempted to live inside the world, instead of out, you would know what I'm talking about." He pushed his trolley around her. "Excuse me."

"Wait!" the girl cried, running in to the crowd after him. "Wait! Don't you want to know more about me? About my family?"

Harry spun around swiftly, his handsome features drawn tight together in anger.

"I have a family," he snarled, his teeth flashing. "I do not require another one. Now_, if you'll excuse me?_"

"No, you don't!" The girl caught up with him and wrapped her fingers around his arm. Harry's hand fisted; he sought his center of calm and fought to control his need to attack her for touching him. "Dumbledore said—"

"Dumbledore knows nothing about me!" Harry leaned forward, his face mere inches from hers. He may not be Batman but he sure could glare like his father when he wanted too. "I am not interested in you or your family when I have my own. Now – let – go – of – my – arm!"

Instead of heeding the warning in his voice, her fingers only tightened.

"You're supposed to befriend Ron and marry me!" Her shrill cry drew the attention of the surrounding adults and her mother. "Dumbledore said you'd be attracted to red heads b-because your mother was one. That means you're supposed to m-marry me!"

The girl's mother shoved her way through the crowd, dragging her youngest son along with her, forcing the adults to either move out of her way or be trampled. When she recognized her, the red head tilted her head upward, revealing shimmering brown eyes and a quivering bottom lip. Her mother stroked her hair tenderly. "What is it, dear?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"_He's Harry Potter!_"

"Are you really?" the boy asked curiously. He pulled himself free of his mother's grip as she turned around to face the secret Boy Wonder squarely in the eyes.

"He can't be, Ronald," she said loudly. "Dumbledore told me for a fact that he's been staying with his Muggle relatives, the poor boy."

Enough.

"In case the three of you have forgotten," Harry hissed silkily. "I am standing right beside you!"

"What?" The woman looked startled, her eyes flicking once again to his scar clearly visible on the side of his brow. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, realizing her mistake. She smoothed her daughter's hair behind her ear and brushed crumbs from her son's clothing. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry dear. This is my youngest son, Ron, and my daughter, Ginny. I'm Mrs. Weasley."

(*)

Glad to be alone, he left his trolley at the entrance of the carriage and hefted his trunk into his arms, grunting with the weight; he strode down the aisle, twisting his head left and right, searching for an empty compartment. He found one at the very end; shuffling the sliding door open, he sized up the room before setting his case on the rack underneath the booth's seat. A piercing whistle shrilled the alarm, warning students that the train would be leaving within minutes; he watched in mild amusement as parents hassled their children on to the train, waving frantic good byes to each other. At exactly eleven o'clock, a shudder passed through the train and the engine began to pull forward, slowly gaining speed. Soon, he could no longer see the crowded platform of 9 and ¾s.

The door to his compartment jerked open, causing Harry to leap to his feet, and a girl only slightly older than him darted inside before she quickly shut it behind her. She wore her black Hogwarts robes despite the train being several hours' away from the school and her hair frizzed around her shoulders and appeared thick, bushy and untameable; she pressed her ear to the glass pane, listening intently.

"Is everything all right?" Harry asked her quietly.

The girl squeaked and quickly turned round to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. She immediately babbled apologies.

"It's alright," he said again, holding his hand up in a gesture for her to cease. He noted the fear in her warm honey-coloured eyes, the way that she kept paying close attention to the sounds outside of his compartment, how she shifted anxiously from foot to foot. He recognized the signs of a victim. Despite his young age, his protective instincts surged to the fore. Batman and Robin despised the criminals that dared attack a defenseless woman for the simple joy of hearing her scream; he may not have heard her scream but he would be damned if he allowed the one frightening her the chance to do so. He held out his hand, palm facing upward, and introduced himself. "My name is Harrison Wayne."

"Hermione Granger," she answered, offering him her hand.

"'At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest to better purpose.'" Harry carefully recited Shakespeare's play while he bent over her hand and brushed his lips across her fingertips. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Slowly, somewhat reverently, she drew her hand back and held it close to her breast. To ease her, he informed her, "My father taught me that chivalry is not dead. He told me that it is very important to treat a lady, even a young lady, with dignity and respect."

"Your father must be very old-fashioned, then," she said, smiling shyly at him.

"He is, indeed," he agreed. "It works, too. He spends a lot of his time in the presence of women or he's otherwise engaged in meetings with different corporate companies throughout the United States and the rest of the world."

"Your father is Bruce Wayne?"

Harry smiled crookedly, amused at the awe that laced her voice. "The one and only."

"I remember reading somewhere that he helps fund the Justice League." Hermione frowned thoughtfully, biting her bottom lip while she tapped her chin with a pretty fingernail. She tilted her head. "Is it true?"

"That's supposed to be confidential information," he answered. "Very few people should know of my father's contribution to the Justice League. For that matter, how do you know of the Justice League?"

"Oh!" Her cheeks glowed pink. "I'm Muggleborn. I know all about the Justice League and its heroes. I don't know about you but I think Aquaman's pretty amazing."

"Please don't degrade yourself by calling yourself a Muggleborn," Harry asked her. "I find the term extremely insulting."

"Why?" she returned with her own question.

"Calling a person a Muggle simply because he or she does not have magic sounds to me like the witches and wizards of this world believe them to be second-class citizens," he explained. "Not having magic does not mean you are powerless _or_ useless. Take a look at Batman, for example."

"I see your point," Hermione murmured, nodding her agreement. "It _is_ degrading to call someone by that name. I shan't ever again."

"Unless you agree with them?" Harry asked, arching a single eyebrow curiously.

"What? No!" she cried aghast. "I just never thought of it that way until you pointed it out."

"It's the truth," he murmured. "Look at the Justice League. Superman can fly. Wonder Woman has incredible strength. Green Lantern is a member of the Green Lantern Corps. Aquaman is an Atlantian. Batman is the only one of them without any given powers. But they all manage to work together, as a team, because they know their combined powers make them infallible."

"And Cyborg and Zatanna," Hermione added, nodding enthusiastically. "I remember reading about the Justice League forming. My parents said that before the Justice League formed, people were afraid of Super Heroes."

The Justice League formed fifteen years ago, three years before Bruce brought Dick home, trained him to become his partner and adopted Harry.

"I couldn't say," Harry answered with a graceful shrug. "We weren't around at the time and my father didn't know Batman then."

"Wait." The girl's honey-coloured eyes widened. "You know Batman?"

"Not _well_," he said hastily, holding up his hands, fighting his laughter. "No one knows Batman well except perhaps Robin and Nightwing and Commissioner Gordon. I only know him because he's saved my life so many times."

"What do you mean?"

"Being a billionaire's son, I get kidnapped quite frequently," he explained. He glanced at his watch and silently cursed himself for allowing himself to forget his manners and lose himself within the conversation. Startling Hermione, he once again pressed a kiss to her fingertips. "My dear lady, I humbly apologize for disrespecting you in such a vile manner. Would you care to sit down and join me, where we may continue our conversation?"

"You don't have to be so formal, Harrison," she informed him coolly as she sat down on the booth seat directly across from him.

"Then, please, call me Harry."

She smiled. "Alright, Harry."

"Bruce Wayne is an extremely powerful, extremely rich man," he continued his tale. "Being his son, people think that if they kidnap me and ransom me for X amount of money, that he'll pay it in order for me to be returned to him, safe and sound. It's always frightening. I was taken inside the Manor's grounds once. That was really scary. But Batman usually finds me within hours."

She stared at him with a mixture of awe and horror; he could not blame the expression on her face and he silently admitted to himself that he found her rather pretty like that: her slender brows knit together, her pert, little nose crinkled and she sucked on the inside of her right cheek with her head cocked slightly to the right.

"Excuse me," a voice interrupted them before she could speak, "but have you seen— Hermione! There you are. Are you all right?"

Harry gazed curiously between Hermione and the boy that stood in the doorway to their shared compartment; he could clearly see the relief that flooded the other boy's expression when he caught sight of her.

"Harry, this is Neville Longbottom." She rose to her feet and introduced the two of them to each other. "Neville, this is Harrison Wayne."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Harrison," Neville greeted cordially, holding out his hand.

"And you as well," he agreed, accepting the proffered hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "My friends call me Harry."

"Harry it is," Neville agreed, nodding his head. Politely shifting his body to include Harry, he turned his head to face Hermione and addressed her. "I'm sorry if I was interrupting anything but I wanted to make sure that you were okay, Hermione. I've been searching up and down the train for you, afraid of what Nott might do if he got his hands on you."

"Is there a problem?" Harry asked including himself in the conversation. He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "Is that why you ran into my compartment? You were being harassed?"

Her cheeks glowed pink with embarrassment and she refused to meet either his or Neville's eyes.

"Nott is a Pureblood," the other wizard explained to Harry. "He believes that Muggleborns should not be allowed to attend Hogwarts simply because her parents are non-magical. He's taken to bullying the students he considers unworthy."

"Did he hurt you?" The secret Boy Wonder's hands clenched into fists and he shifted his weight subconsciously into battle stance; he would not reveal his dual identity to anyone at Hogwarts but he would not stand for a bully to continue to harass his fellow students. "Hermione," he snapped when she refused to answer. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she said hastily. "No."

Allowing himself to fall back upon his training, he carefully met the girl's eyes and brushed her shoulder with his own. "Do not lie to me, Hermione," he purred. "All I want to do is help."

"He didn't touch me," she answered honestly. "He tried to curse me but a Prefect walked by before he could do anything and I ran in here."

"Our trunks are back in the other compartment," Neville said. He raised his eyebrows at Harry and asked, "Is it all right if we fetch them and bring them here?"

"I think that's a great idea," he agreed, nodding.

(*)

Harry, Hermione and Neville sat on the floor in their compartment, Neville teaching the two of them how to play a game of Exploding Snap while they snacked on a variety of wizard sweets. Harry found that he rather enjoyed biting the heads off the Chocolate Frogs and reading about the witch or wizard that appeared on the collectible trading card that came with the package. Hermione babbled excitedly about what she hoped to learn at Hogwarts; Harry and Neville smiled at each other, enjoying the girl's contagious bubbly nature. The three of them eventually changed topics and Harry and Hermione spent most of the rest of their journey explaining to Neville all about the world of Super Heroes including the Justice League. The young wizard drank in all the information he could, wanting to know more about these incredible people that would willingly sacrifice their lives to save their homes, their cities and the planet that they loved so much.

"Do you think I could ever meet them?" Neville asked, his eyes shining with excitement.

"At the Hall of Justice, in Washington, you might be able too," Harry said. "Dad's taken me on a few trips to D.C. and we always stop at the Hall of Justice. I glimpsed Superman once."

He smiled at the envy that entered both Hermione and Neville's eyes at the mention of the incredible Man of Steel; they would become green with jealousy if he told them that Superman visited Wayne Manor on a regular basis just to catch up with his father and spend time with his two favourite fans. He fought to contain the laugh that wanted to erupt from his diaphragm. His father enjoyed teasing them about that; he often huffed about the fact that his sons favoured Superman to their own father's Batman.

"It's amazing," Neville breathed. "To be able to fly without the help of magic? I've never heard of such a thing before. We have spells to make objects fly and we have broomsticks but no one can actually _fly_."

"I think Aquaman's the coolest," Hermione crowed happily. "He can breathe underwater and communicate with the animals of the sea. He's the King of Atlantis and have you seen his wife Mera? She's so beautiful!"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He knew the queen personally; while sweet and extremely generous, most men tended to embarrass themselves in front of her, his father and brother included. Harry still could not meet the queen's eyes after the incident in the Watchtower from several months ago where Dick made a complete ass out of himself. Even Batman turned red beneath his cowl when in the presence of the queen, unable to speak to her for embarrassment of his oldest son.

"She's really nice," Harry said. "Dad invited Aquaman and Mera to the Manor while they were helping Batman on a case."

Hermione shrieked and leapt for him.

"Oh, I hate you so much right now, Harrison Wayne!"

Both boys laughed; Harry allowed the girl to pin him down on the floor where she straddled his waist.

"I give!" He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I didn't know he was your favourite. I can always talk to my father and see if we can invite Aquaman over for dinner with you invited so you can ogle him."

She glared at him, playfully boxing his ear.

"I'm sorry!" he wailed. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Get me a blue pearl and we'll call it even."

Neville blanched. Harry, on the other hand, merely bowed his head submissively, making a silent note to speak to his father.

"Your wish is my command, my lady."

Grinning, blushing at being called 'my lady', Hermione clambered off of him.

"How cute," a voice drawled from the doorway of their compartment. "A Half-blood and a Mudblood rolling around the floor together like the dogs they are."

Harry rose to his feet with a snarl of rage while Neville plunged a hand into his robes and withdrew his wand, which he pointed casually at the boy standing there watching them easily.

"I suggest you watch your tongue, Nott," Neville said calmly, impressing both of his companions. "You are not the only pureblood on this train."

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded.

Theodore Nott raised an eyebrow – whether at being addressed by Harry or from his tone, he could not tell – before he turned his attention to Neville. "Is it true?" he enquired, purposely ignoring the other two in the compartment. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment." His gaze swung round to encompass Harry and Hermione. "So it's you, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid that's incorrect. My name is _Harrison Wayne_ not Harry Potter."

"That's impossible," Nott snapped. "Everyone knows that Harry Potter is supposed to attend Hogwarts this year. The _Prophet's_ had several issues printed in the paper about him. And the Weasleys – not that you should trust those blood traitors, mind – said that he was in here."

"I hate repeating myself," Harry growled, glaring at Nott with a full-patented Bat glare. "I am sick of being disrespected and ignored. My name is Harrison Wayne. Not Harry Potter. Harry Potter _does not_ exist!"

"You'll soon find out that some Wizarding families are better than others," Nott informed him coldly. "Best you learn quickly which ones are and which ones aren't."

"I certainly don't require your help for that, Nott," he answered, coldly. "Now, go away before I force you to."

"I'm leaving but not because you told me to." Nott tossed his nose into the air. "I can't stand the smell of a Mudblood."

Harry's hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his flesh; his lips pulled back in a snarl to bare his white teeth in a manner very reminiscent of Batman. Hermione settled her hand on his shoulder.

"Ignore him," she murmured soothingly. "Just ignore him, Harry. He's not worth it."

Closing his eyes, he grit his teeth until his jaw ached. He could not exactly tell her that he fought bullies like Nott on a regular basis and that he wanted to pound the other boy for daring to insult her so harshly in front of him.

"Come on," she said. "We're nearly there and you need to change into your robes."

_Dufftown, Scotland._

_September 1__st__, 6:02 p.m. GMT._

_The Hogwarts Express train station, Hogsmeade Village._

Harry pushed his long cloak over his shoulders, the weight of the lighter fabric feeling slightly off kilter due to the fact that Robin's cape weighed more; an extra layer of padding sewn throughout its length provided a second form of protection from both the frigid temperatures and stray bullets. His fingers twitched nervously. The metal clasp of his cloak irritated the sensitive skin of his throat; normally, a capital golden R on the upper left side of his chest signified his status as Gotham's Boy Wonder. Tilting his head back, he stared at his reflection in the dark glass window glistening with droplets from the moisture gathering in the cooling air. In all honesty (and he_ tried _to be honest whenever he could because Bruce valued honesty), he greatly disliked the school's uniform. The material did not chafe his skin and the outfit actually suited him but, perhaps, he found that it reminded him too much of his father when he donned his cape and cowl; no one save his father should remind him of Batman and the unintentional insult deeply offended him. Regardless of that fact he knew what his father would do and that knowledge leant him the strength required to square his shoulders and raise his chin stubbornly. Imagining his father standing behind him, Harry now stood with grace and an expression of polite curiosity; everyone in the Wizarding world would learn that Wayne was a name to be respected.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, he accommodated the speed of the slowing train subconsciously; the carriage suddenly jerked, carried forward by the momentum of the engine. He watched people pushing their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. When the aisle emptied of students chatting excitedly about their new term at school, Harry turned and presented his arm to Hermione. His father believed in chivalry and thought it extremely important that he teach his sons about treating a woman with the respect that she deserved. One of Alfred's favourite sayings, "Always lead by example", applied to every member in the Wayne family. His father was forced to act the idiot playboy billionaire and date beautiful movie stars on purpose to fool the world from discovering his identity as Gotham City's hero. Batman stole the hearts of many of the City's female population because he actually stopped to listen to what they needed to tell him; often times, the victims of the crimes would know, recognize or have information about their attackers or their attackers' location. With women, and especially children, the Dark Knight always treated them as individuals rather than case numbers as the police were wont to do (with Commissioner Gordon and precious few others being the exception). Harry knew this because he'd watched his father for years interacting with men, women and children from all different walks of life; and he tried to apply that in to his behaviour. He wanted Hermione to know that she could trust him and it thrilled him to no end when she set her small hand on his forearm. Together, he, Hermione and Neville exited the train.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

An enormous man emerged from the mist beginning to swirl downward from the forested hills that surrounded the area carrying a lantern in one dustbin-sized palm. Harry's body tensed instinctively, preparing to spring in to the attack if necessary to protect his friends from danger. After having fought Bane on Venom, large men did not intimidate him; that did _not_ mean he would be able to so easily defeat this man if he turned out to be a threat. Eyeing the giant warily, Harry surmised that he might even dwarf the mighty impressive Bane in both size and stature. Upon looking into the man's bright warm, beetle-black eyes, he saw no malice conveyed in his body language and he relaxed (marginally).

"C'mon, follow me. Yeh'll get yer first glimpse o' Hogwarts in a sec," the giant boomed, his voice echoing loudly. "Jus' round the bend here."

He loved history; when he, along with his father and older brother, traveled the world, either on official Wayne Enterprises business or on missions, he always brought a camera along with him to take pictures of the ancient buildings that caught his interest. As he walked along the shoreline with Hermione on his right arm and Neville walking beside him on his left, he wished that his camera would work along with Hogwarts' magical wards to allow him to capture the image of the old castle sitting atop the cliff overlooking the great black lake. Only his communicator would work inside of the castle, allowing him to speak directly to his father or a member of the Justice League if he absolutely needed to. With the moon low in the sky, its pale light could not outline the shape of the castle but billions of stars reflected in its many windows, the shimmering water capturing its stillness. He welcomed the surrounding darkness, immediately at peace, because it never failed to remind him of his father's black cape; while most people feared the world of shadows – and this included the Justice League and Young Justice Team – Batman and his sons knew that black represented the colour of safety. Listening to the sound of the water lapping at the shore's edge, the wind gently whispering through the autumn leaves, the quiet murmur of his fellow classmates, he missed that he would not be spending tonight patrolling with his father back in Gotham. He always knew that he needed him; his father offered him comfort the way no one else in the world could because both of them understood the underlying evil that layered the City. He craved his father's touch more so than the spoken words; to all three of them, actions spoke louder than words but everyone knew that when Batman talked, you listened because it _would_ save your life.

The shadows deepened the further they marched away from the station; the only light, provided by the giant's swinging lantern, cast even deeper shadows as its glow softly illuminated the pathway in front of them. Harry carefully avoided staring directly into the flickering flame because he did not want to impede his night vision. He did not envy Superman his multi-vision when all he needed to do was press the vision enhancer mode on his domino mask to see in the infrared spectrum. The enhanced technology and the specialized gadgets (courtesy of WayneTech Enterprises) allowed the Dynamic Duo to stalk Gotham City without being seen or heard or even detected. While he could directly contact both his father and the League thanks to his specialized communicator, only he, Dick and their father knew that the satellite could easily pick up his location – regardless of whatever magic protected the castle.

The giant halted before the water's edge and lifted his lantern to reveal a fleet of boats bobbing quietly in the lake's current. "No more'n four to a boat!"

Harry helped Hermione into the nearest raft and then he and Neville sat down on either side of her.

"Excuse me," a polite voice enquired, "but might I join you?"

Harry tilted his head curiously at the boy that stood stiffly at the shoreline, waiting for their response.

"Of course," he answered graciously, holding out his hand. "Harrison Wayne."

"Draco Malfoy," the blond boy introduced himself, accepting the proffered limb.

"Everyone in?" the giant shouted. "Right then— FORWARD!"

The little fleet of boats glided forward soundlessly, the ripples at the bow of the rafts the only disturbance to the lake's pristine surface.

"Do you suppose this is how Aquaman feels?" Hermione asked Harry in a tight voice. Her fingers wrapped around his forearm, her nails biting into his flesh uncomfortably. "Surrounded by a culture he doesn't understand?"

Harry frowned at her thoughtfully; throughout their journey on the train, she never mentioned her building anxiety about attending a school in a world she found herself knowing nothing about. He stared at her, his gaze deep and intense.

"Aquaman would never allow a different culture to defeat him," he informed her truthfully. "First and foremost, he is the King of Atlantis."

"So, what would he do?" she asked him.

"Have you ever been around royalty?" he returned with his own question. When she shook her head, he answered, "I have."

"That doesn't really surprise me," she told him, her lips curling in a smile. "You're Harrison Wayne, the son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. I'm sure your father knows a lot of influencing people."

"You have no idea," he murmured, rolling his eyes skyward to show her just what he thought of his father's many important contacts.

She smiled faintly at him.

"One thing I've noticed," he began his explanation, "is that there's a certain air around powerful men and women. They stand differently than other people do. They even talk differently, too."

"You mean like you?" Hermione teased him.

"I'm not powerful or important," he said, shrugging her off.

"If you say so, Harry," she whispered, sliding her fingers down his wrist to take a hold of his hand. "But we both know that you're fooling yourself."

_Dufftown, Scotland._

_September 1__st__, 6:21 p.m. GMT._

_The Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide and they followed her across the flagged stone floor. She stopped in front of a set of enormous golden doors that reached all the way to the ceiling.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into yours houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common-room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

She formed them into two even lines of 20 students each and then led them through the golden double doors in to the Great Hall.

Thousands of floating candles hovered over the tops of four enormous long tables that lined the length of the Hall, their tiny flickering flames illuminating the entire room in a soft golden glow. Raised upon a dais at the front of the hall, stood a final long table where all of the professors sat. Tilting his head back, he blinked in confusion before his mind registered that magic allowed him to see the sky instead of the cross beams and support beams that prevented the ceiling from caving in on them. Professor McGonagall set down a three-legged stool with an ancient hat upon its smooth surface. Then the hat twitched and a brim along its seam opened up like a mouth and it began to sing.

At the end of the song, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long roll in her hands.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool and wait to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah."

Harry watched curiously as the nervous-looking red headed girl sat on the stool and McGonagall placed the hat over her eyes. They waited several seconds in silence before the brim opened once and proclaimed:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Professor McGonagall scrolled down the list alphabetically and only a few minutes after Hannah, she shouted, "Granger, Hermione!"

She turned to Harry and he saw the abject terror in her eyes. He lifted her hand and pressed another kiss to her fingertips. Leaning forward, he whispered, "If Aquaman can face the dwellers of the deep sea without fear, you can certainly handle wearing an old hat."

She smiled weakly at him before she jerked her head in an affirmative nod and bravely walked forward, where she placed the hat on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry smiled at her encouragingly when she glanced at him anxiously before she trotted off to join her new housemates.

Professor McGonagall continued through the list and after twenty minutes she called, "Longbottom, Neville."

His round features set with determination, Neville stepped forward purposely and set the hat on his head. It did not surprise Harry when the hat shouted that he now belonged to Gryffindor.

After Professor McGonagall called for Draco Malfoy and the Patil twins, a deafening silence seemed to settle over the Hall as everyone waited for her to call that one infamous name. She never uttered the syllables that would reveal Harrison Wayne also to be Harry Potter. A few of his fellow students turned to stare at him anxiously, whispering nervously, but he ignored them entirely. Having delayed, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and resumed the Sorting Ceremony, finally calling, "Wayne, Harrison."

"Wayne, did she say?"

"_The_ Wayne?"

"As in _Bruce Wayne?_"

Harry cocked his head and smiled mischievously when he heard several students cry loudly at the revelation that the son of billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne would be attending Hogwarts. He turned to the entire student body and bowed courteously. It pleased him immensely to know that those children born to non-magical parents knew about his father and, in a way, him. He actually saw some students stand up and crane their necks to get a better view of him.

Smiling graciously, he climbed the steps up to the dais and caught the twinkling blue gaze of Headmaster Dumbledore. He smiled benignly at Harry and the boy paused, losing himself into the intensity of the twinkling and the swirling blue depths of his eyes. All his concerns, all of his secrets, none of that mattered anymore because Headmaster Dumbledore would tell him what to do. All would be well if he listened to the man. He _was_ all-wise and all-wonderful and all-knowing. Harry blinked, his mind clouding and he tried – physically tried – to look anywhere but into those piercing blue eyes. He could not do so. And why did it matter? The mist swirling through his brain tried to consume him but when he realized that he could not move, his training kicked in. _No one_ could mentally attack Batman and he'd taught his sons safeguards to protect their own minds from such attack. Concentrating, Harry willed the fog from his mind and slowly, it dissipated until he could move freely again. Lowering his gaze, he took his place at the front and sat down on the stool.

"Difficult very difficult," a soft voice whispered in his ear. "Plenty of courage I see and a strong mind as well. I can think of only one place to put you.

"SLYTHERIN!"

All four houses applauded politely at the hat's decision but, glancing over at the Head Table, Harry saw that Headmaster Dumbledore's expression became stony.

"A moment, Mr. Wayne," he called, his soft voice causing the hall to quiet immediately.

Remembering his father's warning, Harry approached the table cautiously. "Headmaster?"

"My dear boy," Dumbledore crooned. "Surely, you want the entire world to know who you really are? Surely, you want them to know that you are Harry Potter?" He leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. "Everyone knows that Harry Potter can't be in Slytherin, my dear boy. It simply won't do for James Potter's son to be seen in a house known to be affiliated with Dark wizards."

"With all due respect Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry began politely. "My name is Harrison Wayne, not Harry Potter. I don't know who James Potter is. My father is Bruce Wayne, from Gotham and is the CEO of WayneTech Enterprises. The hat has decided that I belong in Slytherin and I'm inclined to agree with its decision."

"My office, Mr. Wayne," Dumbledore informed him. "Tomorrow, after your last class. Do not be late."

"Of course, Headmaster."

Bowing his head submissively, Harry trotted off to the Slytherin Table.

Headmaster Dumbledore rose to his feet and the Great Hall immediately fell silent. His long white beard cascaded down the entire front length of his robes, each individual strand gleaming molten silver from the softly flickering candles that floated above them; his mustache twitched when his lips curled upward in a benign smile. Twinkling stars and moons adorned his purple robes; the patterns actually orbited around him with the moons phasing between full and new, and the colour of the stars grew more extravagant as they drew near their final cycle of life. When he turned his head just the right way, his half-moon spectacles flashed with the reflection of thousands of dancing orange-gold flames in their clear lenses. Harry's sharp eyes caught the subtle movement that allowed the man's gaze to sweep over him specifically and his detective skills noted the tension lining the ancient wizard's shoulders. At once, he dropped his head. His father expected him to maintain his secret identity and that meant playing the fool (to a certain degree) to avoid drawing any unwanted suspicion. His magical guardian wanted a weapon. Dumbledore would know by now that Harry lived with Bruce Wayne in Gotham State; everyone who watched the news knew what kind of a person Bruce Wayne really _was_. Knowing _that,_ Dumbledore would believe that he could still control Harry and _he_ would single-handedly destroy Ra's al Ghul's attempt at rebuilding an empire.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

With those final words, Dumbledore resumed his seat at the Head Table, and, Harry noted with narrowed eyes, he tossed his beard over his shoulder and flared out his robes in a gesture similar to a woman smoothing her gown. The golden plates lining the tables suddenly filled with familiar and exotic dishes; he inhaled deeply, breathing in the fresh scent of baked bread, steamed white rice, broccoli smothered in melted mozzarella, stuffed duck with almonds and cranberry sauce. Setting his napkin on his knees, he cut into the tender meat of the duck and swallowed; it literally melted on his tongue, the juices from the perfectly cooked bird sliding down the back of his throat. Stretching out an arm, he reached for the golden goblet slightly to his left and sipped lightly from the glass; he watched and listened to his classmates through half-lowered lashes. Most of the older students talked about their summer holidays while they caught up with their friends, some bellowing across the hall to each other; his fellow first years seemed too humbled or awed by the magic they witnessed to comment at all and mainly listened to everyone else chatter around them. Several students in sixth year that sat around Harry spoke about their parents' jobs at the Ministry of Magic and their Pureblood status in the Book of Gold. He also heard one or two of the Prefects mention the fact that Professor McGonagall had not called Harry Potter's name during the Sorting Ceremony.

He started violently when a silvery yet transparent shape emerged through the smooth surface of the wooden table and he knocked down a pitcher of pumpkin juice in the process, the liquid staining several feet of white cloth. His right hand jerked for the single Birdarang hidden within an inside pocket of his trousers. He _hated_ spirits. The propaganda surrounding the hundreds of multiple sightings of ghosts haunting old American buildings or English mansions proved false. Ghosts very rarely lingered in the realm of the living, choosing instead to cross over and journey into the Light or Paradise or Heaven; exceptions existed and a ghost would remain to complete its unfinished business before fading from this world's notion of existence. Spirits _were not_ ghosts. Harry's past experience with ghosts taught him that they were benign and often times peaceful. He remembered a case from when he first became Robin and how the ghost of a little girl led him and Batman to discover her murderer. Malevolent spirits often haunted people because they could feed off of that individual's energy but on occasion they would haunt a building. Unlike a benign ghost, a malicious spirit could easily twist a person's perception or reality while feeding into their subconscious mind, heightening that person's fight or flight reflex. He, Nightwing and Batman experienced the terrifying power of several malicious spirits when Zatanna accidentally transported them into the realms of the dead. All four of them would have died or murdered each other if Batman's unconditional love for his sons had not allowed them to find strength in his arms. Nightmares of that awful experience still plagued his dreams and he would crawl into his father's bed on those nights when the whispering leers of the spirits echoed in his mind's ears.

"Easy, there, lad," the ghost of Slytherin house attempted to soothe him. "I'll not harm you."

Harry's grip on his hidden Birdarang tightened minutely; the smooth surface of the metal, cool against his fingers, comforted him. With his free hand, he reached up and pretended to scratch his scalp while his fingers brushed over the tiny metal earpiece that would allow him to communicate directly with his father or any member of the League. He pressed the comm. link subtly to activate open transmission and the device beeped once in confirmation before falling silent.

"What's the matter, _Wayne?_" Nott taunted him from across the table because he clearly witnessed his reaction to the ghost's sudden appearance. "Haven't you ever seen a ghost before?"

"Leave him alone, Nott," Draco Malfoy, the boy whom he'd shared the boat ride over with, defended him. "Not all of us can gloat about the ghost of our many greats grandfather haunting Notting Hill Castle."

"I don't believe I was talking to you, Malfoy," Nott answered coolly, turning to glare coldly at the blond boy. "You will not speak unless you are spoken too, understand?"

Draco's pale cheeks flushed pink, whether from rage or embarrassment – or both – Harry didn't know.

"Let it be known," Nott continued, his voice deepening as he exuded an air of superiority, "that _my_ father is not a blood traitor."

"You leave my father out of this, Nott!" Draco cried, leaping to his feet as his hand plunged into his robes to withdraw his wand. "My father is _not_ a blood traitor!"

"Enough," Harry growled. He would need to thank his father for teaching him how to obtain everyone's attention with just one word because both boys turned to glare at him after he fell silent. "Theodore, you are as bigoted and superior as any other wizard I have met so far. You think that because your name is in the Book of Gold that you can look down upon everyone else." He invaded the other boy's space until Nott drew back, his eyes flashing with discomfort. "I've encountered grown men just like you. You aren't scary or intimidating, Theodore. One thing I've learned about you and everyone else like you is just how easily you fall."

"_Shut up, Wayne!_"

"Don't," Harry hissed, "interrupt me."

He waited patiently to see if Nott would dare interrupt him again but the older boy remained silent.

"Tell me something, Theodore. You pride yourself on being a Pureblood wizard with your name traceable back to the very beginning of the Book of Gold but what have wizards, in general, accomplished that non-magical people have not?" he demanded. "We've been to the moon. We've been to the bottom of the ocean. We've formed treaties with the Vlatavian and Bialian governments. Certain scientists are even permitted to study at several universities in Atlantis. We have the Hall of Justice, where men and women from all over the world come to form alliances with one another or ask the Justice League's help. Tell me what it is, exactly, that magic has accomplished?"

"We've built Hogwarts," Nott said, ticking off one of his fingers. "We have Notice-Me-Not spells and Forget-Me-Not spells for when Muggles venture too close to Diagon Alley or the Quidditch Stadium."

"And you feel you should be proud of that?" Harry asked him coolly. "You think non-magical people won't be able to handle the fact that magic exists? That they'll be jealous and want it all for themselves?"

Nott sneered at him.

"You give yourself too much credit, Theodore," he snapped finally losing patience.

Nott glared at him, baring his teeth.

"You may think you're all that, Wayne," he whispered, "but I know who you _really_ are."

"And who am I?"

Nott opened his mouth to respond but at that precise moment Dumbledore stood up for a second time that night and the entire hall fell silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.

"And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

**Author's Notes:**

**Resubmitted 05/10/2012.**

Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Please review and let the author know that she can improve.

1. Before any of you comment, I know that Neville Longbottom is out of character. He is supposed to be. He is clumsy and shy but not as severely as he was in the books. He's shy around people he's uncomfortable with but Harry and Hermione are his true friends so he doesn't have to worry about how they see him. He, along with Hermione and Draco, is a key character to this story. Draco did not feature strongly in this chapter for a very important reason; I wanted to establish that Nott is the evil and prejudiced Pureblood that everyone should pay attention too. I do have plans for Draco; he is still arrogant and conceited but he is not Harry's arch nemesis here. Crabbe and Goyle do exist; they are still Draco's friends/body guards.

2. Yes. I Sorted Harry into Slytherin. Before all of you who wanted me to put him Gryffindor yell at me, allow me to explain. This is Harrison Wayne; not Harry Potter. He is the son of Batman, the World's Greatest Detective. He may be Robin. He may be fun-loving and happy-go-lucky. But he still a Bat. This means that he is cunning and paranoid to a degree that no one save Alfred would expect. He has contingency plans for his contingency plans. He is a trained martial artist and can speak fluently in several languages. I placed him in Slytherin because of those reasons and the fact that the old adage 'keep your friends close but enemies closer' applies to the entire Bat clan. Gryffindor would not work; while Harry is brave, he is not rash - he will not jump into something unless he knows that he can win. Hufflepuff would not work either; while he is loyal, don't forget that he has plans to destroy the entire League and Young Justice Team if he has too. Ravenclaw is the only other House that might have worked for him but I decided not to place him there because, as Bruce Wayne's son, he has to downplay his intelligence to keep everyone from suspecting his dual identity.

3. The Weasleys, Ron and Ginny are redeemable. This is NOT a bashing fic. It is not my intention to make any one character appear more evil or ugly than they really are. This is simply how I viewed them when I read the HP books. Dumbledore is manipulative and I believe that he's trying to control Harry's future by dictating whom his friends and lovers should be. He's started early, convincing the Weasleys that Harry has not been treated kindly by his relatives. He also wants Harry to marry a woman of his choice or, more specifically, a woman who will listen to his wants and then convince her husband that it's for his own good too. Who better than Ginny Weasley who all ready has a severe crush on him? I believe that Dumbledore promised Ron fame and money, stating that he would be noticed if he befriended Harry. To Ron, those are more important aspects than loyalty or friendship. This does NOT mean the two of them can't redeem themselves. He's only 11 and Ginny is 10. They are young. They can still be influenced by other adults in their lives. And it could possibly be the Justice League. Voldemort is redeemable; Dumbledore is too but whether he chooses that path remains to be seen.

4. Romance is not the main theme of this story. Harry and his friends are 11, which means he's just beginning to find himself attracted to the opposite sex but is still too shy to act upon those impulses. He will develop a very strong friendship with Hermione; that was one aspect I truly enjoyed about the HP series; whether this is Harry Potter/Hermione Granger has not been determined yet but it is not pre-established. There will be minor romance. Bruce Wayne's relationship with his past lovers will be brought to attention. There are no original characters in this story and all of Bruce's lovers can be found either in DCAU (DC animated universe such as Batman: the Animated Series, Justice League/Unlimited) or somewhere online.


	6. First Lessons

__Part VI: First Lessons

_Dufftown, Scotland. _

_September 2__nd__, 06:00 a.m. GMT._

_The halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Harry paced up and down the length of the hall on the sixth floor, one arm held loosely behind his back while he stroked his chin, lost in thought, with the other. He needed a place where he could train every day without having to worry about jeopardizing his identity. He did not fear the Pure blooded wizards recognizing any of Robin's significant or standard-operating combat techniques; arrogant and believing themselves better than Half-blood or Muggleborn witches and wizards, they rarely (if ever) paid attention to the non-magical world and that included its form of defense. He worried about the other half of the student population that grew up with the Justice League saving the planet and knowing of Gotham's legendary Dark Knight's infamous Boy Wonder. One simple mistake – even if by accident – would destroy everything that Batman, Nightwing and Robin fought so hard for. Dick loved working for the Bludhaven Police Department, both as an officer of the law and as Gotham's sister city's protector. His father, too, loved his job as WayneTech Enterprises' CEO and one of the greatest businessmen of all time. He would never allow that to happen if he knew that he could prevent it. His thoughts returned to the task at hand: finding a suitable training room where no one would accidentally stumble upon the Boy Wonder.

At this early hour, with the sky only just barely beginning to lighten with the rising of the sun, not many students wandered the corridors of Hogwarts and Harry found the school mostly deserted. While he did not need to, he chose to use this opportunity to practice his stealth skills; he remained in the darker shadows and avoided garnering the attention of Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. He noticed that Professor Snape preferred to brew his potions before morning classes required him to teach his lessons in the Potions laboratory down in the dungeons. He purposely avoided bumping in to Professor Burbage as she headed in the opposite direction, weaving gently from side to side and mumbling incoherently to herself. Of course, he did not need the half-empty bottle of sherry to tip him off to her nightly exploits. His lips pressed into a thin line. His father characterized the idiot playboy always appearing with a glass of champagne in one hand and some voluptuous woman in the other. Only those closest to him knew that he poured his carafe full of Ginger Ale and _acted_ drunk. He _never_ drank if he knew that he would suit up later that night and he never accepted party favors while in uniform; the only exception to the rule being New Year's Eve when Batman and Commissioner Gordon shared a single shot in toast to the new year. Alfred enjoyed sipping from a small glass of red wine with his evening meal.

Frustrated and out of options, Harry spun around to face the wall. His shoulders stiffened when he saw a door emerging from the stone, the design intricate and he unable to recognize the strange almost archaic ruins. He knew better than to enter a room where he could not find an easy exit and he knew better than to trust in magic. Curiosity compelled him to twist the golden handle— and he laughed softly when he found himself standing in the semi-darkness of the Batcave. He couldn't be home in Gotham which meant that the magic that surrounded and filled the castle with its essence sensed what he required and created a room specifically catered to his needs. Walking around the length of the room, examining every square inch and detail, he thought that it could pass for the real deal. His lips twitched in a smirk. Minus the actual bats, the sounds of water droplets dripping from the hanging stalactites and the Dark Knight himself, of course. Harry found his uniform, along with his cape and belt, folded on top of a balance beam that could be raised to varying heights. Shrugging off his robe, he quickly changed into the red, yellow and black costume.

Pressing his finger to the communicator tucked conveniently inside his ear, he opened the link between himself and his father.

"Robin to Batman."

"Go ahead, Robin," the man's deep voice answered.

Robin hesitated before answering his father.

"I need you to come to Hogwarts."

"Is there a problem?" Robin straightened at that delicate purr that laced his father's voice. It meant one of two things: either he would end up grounded or someone would end up on the receiving end of Batman's gauntleted fist.

"It's Headmaster Dumbledore," he said at last. "He wants Harrison Wayne to come to his office at the end of his lessons today for a one-on-one meeting. That's not his only problem." They always referred to their true identities in third person while they donned their uniforms; in case anyone ever managed to penetrate the high-security of their communication frequency, no one would realize the people they discussed were actually themselves. "He wants to know why Harrison has refused to accept Potter as his surname. He was not pleased when Harrison defied him in front of the entire student body. And … there is one more thing."

"Go on."

"Dumbledore is capable of using primitive but effective mind controlling techniques."

"And did Dumbledore attempt to use those techniques on Harrison?"

"He did."

Silence.

Then—

"I shall contact Bruce Wayne and inform him of the situation at Hogwarts."

"All right," he nodded. "Robin out."

_Dufftown, Scotland. _

_September 2__nd__, 8:45 a.m. GMT._

_The Potions laboratory in the dungeons. _

Harry arrived at the entrance to the Potions laboratory 45 minutes before the lesson would begin and discovered the door open wide in silent invitation. Blending in to the shadows cast by the flickering torches mounted on the wall on opposite sides of the doorway, he watched Professor Snape. He strode across the length of the room with an easy, graceful stride that reminded him too much of Selina Kyle's movements. His father fancied Catwoman. He liked her, too – from a distance and only when she decided _not_ to flirt with Batman. Very rarely she would choose the path toward redemption and aide them on their crusade; of course, this happened when she would _benefit_ from the situation. Batman and Robin understood the nature of her personality. She committed petty crime and remained beneath the radar of the city's super criminals and mob bosses while she stole thousands of dollars' worth of jewellery from Gotham's elite. Gotham City's Police Department knew her name and recognized her face but, as long as she did not start murdering innocent bystanders, they left her alone. She abused the system; in any other part of the country she would face serious criminal charges for her repeated acts against the law and potentially face time in jail. Until Batman captured her at the end of a very long, very exhausting chase and brought her to the GCPD for justice, that is.

His thoughts strayed to several key articles he'd read in the _Gotham Gazette_ earlier that morning. His father would host the annual Wayne Foundation Charity Ball at Wayne Manor, inviting hundreds of guests from around the State and across the country. There would be music performed by a live DJ, plenty of wine for the guests to drink and the Ballroom would be filled with the sound of false laughter and political campaigners trying to get the upper hand. He believed wholeheartedly in the cause but he absolutely hated the snobbery of the City's elite: they did not care about the dilapidated housing surrounding Park Row or the Cyrus Pigmy Natural History Museum falling into disrepair. They cared only about their image and how the reporters would represent them in the paper's next issue. He _did_ care. He saw the conditions that those who could not afford yearly housing lived in. The Museum allowed parents and children from the poorer sections of the City to view the exhibits for free and included a free meal in the tour. Bruce Wayne may be the most powerful and influential man in all of Gotham but others believed in helping those they could with what little they could.

An article on the third page of the _Gazette_ boasted an image of a young woman with dark brown hair and round glasses and a title that claimed the serial killer to still be at large. He snorted. What would ordinarily make headline news in a State less crime-ridden was shoved to the third or fourth page of Gotham's newspaper. People cared about the murdering psychopaths victims but not enough for that to warrant a front page cover – they wanted to know first and foremost if Joker escaped Arkham yet _again_ or if they should avoid the botanical gardens because of Poison Ivy. The citizens of Gotham knew to always be prepared for the unexpected. Henchmen working for any of the City's super criminals prowled the streets, searching for anyone that they believed would suit their boss' needs or just to find victims to torture and main for the sheer hell of it all. Anybody could walk into a store and purchase a weapon, no permit required. The lack of a permit meant that the petty and super criminals could steal or find weapons all over the city. It enraged Batman to the point that Robin fled whenever he sensed the man's mounting fury. Batman _hated_ guns and woe to whoever decided to use one in his presence.

Deciding that he remained hidden long enough, Harry emerged from the safety of the shadows, shouldered his bag filled with his books and entered the laboratory.

Professor Snape glanced up at him from his work station and nodded curtly when he saw Harry; the boy returned the greeting with a nod of his own. He paused in the doorway, his head swiveling back and forth as he noted the layout of the lab; ten tables divided into two sections lined the front of the classroom with sections on either end to place one's cauldron. Equal space between tables allowed for Professor Snape and other students to pass behind each other safely, without compromising their potions. Cabinets filled with a variety of ingredients took up the back wall and shelves bordered the two remaining walls containing many strange and exotic creatures pickling in jars. Harry snorted, arching one eyebrow disdainfully. The poor light cast by the flickering candles hung from the ceiling above cast the room into shadow and only added to creepiness factor. He snorted. The shadowed lab (he refused to think of it as a classroom) did not intimidate him; now, nightmares from his experience at the hand of the Interrogator and _his_ secret laboratory still plagued his dreams.

"Harry!"

He glanced up from his chosen seat at the front of the lab when Hermione called his name excitedly. She trotted over to him with an air of contagious excitement and he could not help but smile at her exuberance; long-instilled decorum demanded that he stand whenever a lady (or young lady) entered a room and Hermione would not prove the exception to his code of chivalry. When she stood beside him, he bowed and gestured for her to sit down on the stool beside him before he rejoined her.

"You know," she said shyly, "you don't have to do that every time you see me."

"But I do," he answered her graciously. "If I stop standing when you enter a room or forget to hold your seat, I will most assuredly forget to do so in the company of my father's … important … business associates. Besides that fact, I believe it to be extremely rude behaviour for a man to sit when a woman enters a room."

Her smile grew and her cheeks turned slightly pink but she dropped the subject, for which Harry felt grateful.

With half an hour remaining before the actual beginning of class, Harry opened his bag containing his school supplies and began to place them neatly on his worktable. He read through the textbooks throughout the month of August with Zatanna quizzing him; he smiled at the memory of his father also questioning him while they patrolled the streets of Gotham. Every member of the Justice League knew that Batman disliked magic but he went out of his way to learn everything that he possibly could in order to help his son. His father never failed at what he set out to accomplish because he worked hard and spent every minute (when not training or patrolling) learning new ways to complete his goals. Harry valued that about the man. He always pushed his sons to do well but he also wanted them to know that they should never fear asking him – or an adult they trusted – for help. His father hid behind the mask of a billionaire playboy and only his true self emerged when he literally became the night personified. Batman went out of his way to help the people of his city but he would always help those closest to him first if he could.

He set his phials filled with differing ingredients near the edge of the table where he wouldn't accidentally knock them over. Of course, he knew better. Batman and Robin would often confiscate important evidence from crime scenes to determine the cause of death or to discover the super criminal behind the murder. His father refused to let him near the evidence until he knew that Harry wouldn't contaminate or destroy what little prolific evidence he had; a criminal could walk away because of such a simple mistake. After what happened to his grandparents and Dick's parents, he refused to allow that to happen. He knew that their deaths still greatly affected both of them and it hurt to see the pain in their eyes when they reflected on their childhood. Dick had healed from his parents' death thanks to having Bruce and Harry and becoming Robin, the Dark Knight's Dark Squire. Harry didn't remember his biological parents and as far as the matter concerned him, he considered Bruce Wayne his father and Dick Grayson-Wayne his older brother and loveable Alfred his grandfather. He truly ignored anyone from the Wizarding community that commented on his resemblance to James or Lily Potter.

"Good morning, Harry," Neville greeted when he entered the laboratory at a quarter past eight. "Hermione."

"Good morning, Neville," they both returned, smiling when at each other when they spoke in unison.

The other boy walked over to the worktable set directly behind the two of them and promptly set his bag on the surface with a resounding thud. He blushed when he caught Harry raising his eyebrow at him. A little more gently this time, Neville reached into his bag and began laying his belongings on the table. At around this time, other first year students began trickling into the lab, not wanting to be late for their first lesson of the day. Draco Malfoy walked in to the room, carrying his book bag over his shoulder and, when he spotted the trio, walked over to them and politely asked Neville if the two of them could partner for the duration of the class. Recalling how Theodore Nott treated the blond boy last night, Harry smiled at his friend when Neville agreed and gestured for him to join him.

"Settle down," Professor Snape commanded, his voice soft and silky as he addressed a laboratory filled with rambunctious eleven-year-olds. He strode over to his desk, his robes billowing behind him in the fashion similar to that of a certain Dark Knight's cape, where he proceeded to take the register. Like Professor McGonagall at the Sorting Ceremony last night, he paused down the list where Harry Potter's name should have been; his obsidian eyes flicked in Harry's direction and landed on the clearly visible scar but, after a moment, he returned to calling out names for attendance purposes.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke barely above a whisper but he managed to capture the entire class's attention. Harry assumed that many of his fellow classmates did not know the definition of 'intimidating'; he snickered at the thought of asking his father to terrify a bunch of eleven-year-olds into submission. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry raised an eyebrow and couldn't keep the smirk from face. He, the son of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's legendary Dark Knight, loved a challenge and he enjoyed the reactions of his teachers when they learned that he knew more about their subjects than they did.

"Sir," Hermione raised her hand and waited for him to acknowledge her with a nod. "Sir, could you tell us, what _are_ the benefits to using potions?"

Professor Snape frowned but he seemed more thoughtful than angry when he answered her.

"That is a very astute question, Miss. Granger," he praised her. Turning to the entire class, he once more addressed them. "Miss. Granger brings forward a very interesting question. I suppose half of you weren't paying attention and couldn't answer her if I called on you." His black eyes flashed dangerously and Harry could understand why; working over fires and with varying types of animal parts, he needed to maintain his students' safety at all times. "There are a variety of potions out there, Miss. Granger," he said, finally answering her. "Potions are mostly used for healing a wizard's ailments from broken bones to something as simple as acne. Potions are far more effective than a healing spell because of the ingredients and properties that go into the brewing process. While healing spells will are necessary, they should not be heavily relied upon because, in the long run, they are greatly ineffective and will eventually wear off; a healing spell will not repair a broken bone, whereas SkeleGro will do so."

"What about using magical healing techniques along with non-magical healing techniques?" Harry asked, his hand raised above his head.

"I would highly advise against such a thing, Mr. Wayne," the Potions Master answered, folding his hands in front of him. "Magic is not science and it is very dangerous to attempt to combine the two of them together. The side effects of such an experiment are … frightening to say the very least."

Harry, watching his professor's expression, believed him and allowed the subject to drop between them.

Professor Snape spent the remainder of their lesson teaching them how to brew a simple potion to cure boils. He stalked around the laboratory, pausing to help a student where needed and patiently explained why the potion turned a certain colour when you added a certain ingredient. He never hindered his students; he kept a close eye on the children born to non-magic parents like Harry and Hermione to make sure that they would not end up burning down the castle. He needn't have worried; both of them brewed their potions quite well, Harry's only a shade lighter than Hermione's teal.

"This is your first time brewing a potion, Mr. Wayne?" Professor Snape asked him, peering over into his cauldron.

"Yes, sir," he said politely.

"Well done for a first attempt. I believe you added your crushed serpent's fang a little too early and that is the cause of the lighter shade but it is still acceptable," the Potions Master explained. When the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson, he addressed the class one final time. "I would like you all to write a three-foot essay on the importance of cobra venom as well as its uses due at the beginning of next lesson. Have a good afternoon."

(*)

Harry waved goodbye to Neville and Hermione when they headed for the Transfiguration classroom on the first floor and he and Draco headed for the fourth for History of Magic with the Ravenclaws. When they entered the classroom they found a pretty woman in her early thirties sitting behind a desk, her eyebrows knit together with concentration as she chewed on the end of her quill. She lifted her head and grinned when she saw the two boys standing in the doorway. Wavy hair the colour of copper fell to her shoulders and framed her round cheekbones; thick black lashes curled upwards and brought attention to her sea-blue eyes. She wore a silver floor-length robe overtop of her short black skirt and blue blouse.

"Come in, come in," she greeted them.

Harry nodded politely to the woman and chose a seat near the front of the classroom. This room certainly did not resemble the shadowed potions laboratory he'd just left. Three enormous windows on the east wall allowed the sun's rays to flood the class with warm, golden light and provided a breathtaking view of the Black Lake and Forbidden Forest. Sunlight bounced off of the surface of the water, resembling shimmering shards of broken diamonds, and a warm breeze blew through the trees, their leaves a combination of orange, yellow and red – the warm tones of the autumn season. Turning his gaze away from the scenery and to the front of the room, he noticed a giant blackboard running the length of the north wall and a projection screen hung just above that with the magical projector bolted to the middle of the ceiling. Bookshelves laden with thick tomes and volumes lined the back wall, their spines ancient and worn from years (possibly even centuries) of use. Several posters of magical creatures hung from the west wall along with a few that belonged to the non-magical world; Harry couldn't help but grin when he caught sight of the image of Wayne Tower in the middle of it all.

"Welcome to History of Magic! I am Professor Beaumont." Professor Beaumont rose from her seat behind her desk and walked to stand at the front of the classroom. She smiled at them, her grin contagious. "I am here to teach you all there is to know about magic, from its history to the different types of magic that exist throughout the world." She laughed softly at the expressions on some of her students' faces. "Surely, you do not believe that there is only one form of magic?"

"There are several forms, actually," Theodore Nott answered, sneering at Professor Beaumont. "Everyone knows that our form of magic is preferable and the most modern."

Harry snorted.

"Think something's funny, Wayne?" he asked, turning to glare pointedly at him.

"How can this form of magic be considered the most advanced when you're required to use wands to channel the energy you want to cast?"

"That is a very good question, Mr. Wayne," Professor Beaumont said, purposely interrupting the two feuding boys. "You'll forgive me if I do not answer it right away and save it for the required lesson?"

"Of course." He bowed his head graciously.

"Now," Professor Beaumont said silkily. "I have just a few simple rules that govern my classroom and anyone caught disobeying these rules will be sent outside. I know you want to be treated as adults, and I will do so, but this also means that _you_ must act this way. This means that your petty rivalries or feuds are to be left at the door of my classroom." She glared pointedly at Nott. "If I hear anyone insulting anyone based on their lineage or religious background, not only will I give you detention, I will write to your parents.

"I am your professor. This means that it is my job to teach you and to teach you well. Everyone learns differently. If you are finding my lessons difficult or are having trouble understanding a concept, please, _please_, come and see me. I am here to help you and I cannot help if you hide the problem from me. If there are more serious issues that you feel need to be addressed and you are uncomfortable coming to me, then speak with your Head of house. That is what they are there for." Her smile softened. "We will not laugh at you or think ill of you for speaking to us. If anything, we will think about how brave you are, facing your fears to tell an adult what's troubling you."

Nott sneered but wisely chose to remain silent when Professor Beaumont glared at him, her blue eyes flashing in warning.

"Now, I know that not all of you are familiar with magic, and I know how no one likes quizzes, but I figured that it's a way for me to learn about what subjects I need to teach you. If you'll kindly pull out a quill?" She handed a long leaf of parchment to all of them. "This will not be marked. And don't worry if you don't know the answers to the questions." She glanced at the clock hung on the wall. "You have until the end of the lesson. If you finish early, you may read quietly. I can't let you leave, unfortunately."

(*)

"Well," Draco asked him as they sat down to dinner later that evening. "What did you think?"

"It's interesting," Harry said as he served himself a helping of smoked salmon and a salad of spinach, oranges, mangos and lemon dressing. "Professor Snape really knows what he's talking about and he enjoys teaching it, too. Professor Beaumont also seems to know a lot about her subject and I'm eager to actually begin learning about magic's history."

"Well, I'm anxious to try out Defence Against the Dark Arts," Draco said, eating a mouthful of steak. He swallowed before he continued speaking. "I've heard that Professor Quirrell used to be an exceptional teacher but after he traveled to the forest of Romania, he's become somewhat of a recluse. Afraid of his own shadow, that sort of thing."

"I wonder what would have caused that?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. You could always ask him but I don't recommend it; I don't think he'd give you a straight answer."

Harry frowned but chose not to say anything to that; instead, he focused on finishing his meal.

"Do you know where the Headmaster's office is?" he asked him after dessert.

"Yes," Draco said, nodding. He raised his eyebrows and smiled conspiratorially at him. "Are you in trouble all ready, Wayne?"

"I don't believe so. Headmaster Dumbledore asked to see me before the hat Sorted me yesterday evening," Harry explained.

"Oh. Well, yes, I can show you how to get there. Come on." He rose from his seat. "Follow me."

(*)

"Sorbet Lemon."

Harry openly stared at the blond boy.

"What?" Draco asked, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably. "Uncle Sev gave me the password all right?"

"But why?" he asked him.

"None of your business, Wayne!" the blond snapped and Harry realized that he'd touched an unwelcome subject.

"All right," he said, nodding. "I won't ask again."

"Well, there you go, Harry," Draco said gruffly. "Just climb the staircase to the top and knock on the door. Dumbledore'll be there."

Harry nodded his thanks and without watching his friend leave, climbed on to the revolving staircase.

_Dufftown, Scotland._

_September 2__nd__, 19:00 p.m. GMT._

_The Headmaster's office._

When Harry raised his hand to knock on the door to Headmaster Dumbledore's office, he realized that he could hear people talking. He immediately recognized his father's deep baritone and warmth flooded his system at the knowledge that he would not need to face the old man alone. A woman's voice, soft and melodious, joined in with his father's but her tone sounded far from pleased. After years of studying under her, he would know Zatanna anywhere. Encouraged by the fact that not only his father would support him but Aunt Zana as well, he lowered his fist and rapped on the door solidly three times to announce his presence.

"Come in."

Headmaster Dumbledore beamed when he saw Harry and the boy's body tensed, instinctively remembering the old man's attempt at controlling his mind from the night before.

"Come in, Harry, come in," he greeted him jovially.

Harry's emerald eyes flicked away nervously from the older wizard's face in an attempt to avoid catching his gaze.

"You're not in trouble, son."

His father's voice sent a wave of reassurance crashing through his system and he turned to find him standing by the hearth with his arms folded across his chest.

"You came," he whispered.

His father _almost_ looked affronted.

"Of course I came," he answered. "Did you think I would ignore your letter and abandon you to the manipulations of an old man like him?"

Harry relaxed, recognizing the game his father wanted to play. His father wanted to test Dumbledore's sincerity, to know if he really cared about the boy or the boy's position in this world.

"I assure you, Mr. Wayne," Dumbledore said, smiling benignly at him. "I intend you or your son no harm. I merely wanted to question him on his choice of surnames, nothing more." His tone darkened slightly when he added, "I don't see how this concerns you or Miss. Zatanna."

"He is _my_ son, Headmaster Dumbledore," Bruce answered coldly. "You may have been his magical guardian but you gave up that right when you abandoned Harrison as a baby on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle."

"I did what I judged to be right," the older man said, his eyes twinkling furiously. "I knew that his aunt would have taken him. After Lily's sacrifice, only blood wards could protect him and no blood is stronger than that of family."

"Perhaps in your opinion," Harry's father agreed, "but I have two sons whom I adore and I do not share a drop of their blood."

Harry smirked. He'd shared blood with Dick but Dumbledore didn't need to know that.

"I just want to make sure that Harry is safe," Dumbledore tried to explain. "I'm sure you're a great father to him, Mr. Wayne but I've heard about the filth that lives in Gotham. I don't think it's a safe place for any growing boy, most especially a boy of Harry's calibre. I believe that he would be far safer and better off living with his relatives."

"You have no say in the matter," Bruce informed him, his voice dangerously close to Batman's warning purr. "Harrison is legally my son and if you attempt to remove him from me, I can and will press charges." When he saw the colour in Dumbledore's cheeks, he pressed his advantage. "Think carefully, Headmaster. I am one of the wealthiest, most powerful men, in the world. Do you really think it would be wise to try and push me in this?"

Harry almost felt sympathy for Dumbledore. The Headmaster would believe that his father had just played all of his cards by revealing that information but he would never know that he always kept an ace up his sleeve. However, not even Harry knew what that ace would be in this game.

"Very well, Mr. Wayne," Dumbledore said, nodding. "I can see it would be very unwise of me to argue that point further. But I want to know … By what right did you did change Harry's given surname to yours?"

"Harrison has always had the opportunity to retain his surname," his father stated. "I legally changed his name to protect him from Child Protective Services. I know that Gotham is not a nice place but I wasn't about to let them get their hands on a fifteen-month-old baby! Do you know what they would have done to him? What they _did _to my eldest?"

"Then why not place him with his relatives?" Dumbledore suggested. "You needn't have worried about Child Protective Services then."

"And allow Harrison to grow up abused and neglected?" His father sneered at the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "I don't think so."

Dumbledore paled at the realization that Bruce had found the letter he'd written to Petunia Dursley.

"When I thought Harrison old enough, I explained the situation to him and told him that he could choose to retain my name or that he could reassume his birth name."

"I chose Wayne," Harry said and smiled brilliantly when his father's eyes flashed with pride in his direction.

"But surely …"

"Do you think he would be more popular with his given name?" Bruce demanded. "Think about it, Headmaster. I am Bruce Wayne, CEO of WayneTech Enterprises, a multi-billion dollar company. You think more people are familiar with the name Potter than they are Wayne?"

"He is known in our world as Harry Potter. No one knows or cares about the Muggle world."

Dumbledore appeared furious with himself and Harry's father merely straightened.

"Unless my son is failing his classes, or has broken school rules, he is not to be left alone with you," he commanded. "I know men like you, Headmaster, and you'd take advantage of my boy faster than you could shake a stick at."

"Oh, very well," Dumbledore agreed, waving his hand. "Harry, you're dismissed."

Harry stole a glance at his father and resisted the urge to smirk; oh, Dumbledore would never know what hit him if he disobeyed his father's command.

As he left, his father handed him a tiny package.

_Dufftown, Scotland._

_September 19__th__, 9:00 a.m. GMT._

_The Great Hall._

Harry watched those entering the Great Hall, his eyes scanning the faces of every student until he discovered Hermione surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls. He flushed; he could handle Two-Face, Joker, Harley Quinn, the Interrogator, Killer Croc and even Bane but giggling girls left him nervous. He rubbed his sweating palms on his robes. _Harry_ may be uncomfortable around them but _Robin_ could handle them with his charming smile; his lips curling in that familiar smile that belonged to the Boy Wonder, he sauntered over to them and bade them each a good morning.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione," he said to her.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny blue velvet box and handed it to her.

She lifted the lid—

—and shrieked.

The entire Hall went silent.

"It's – it's …" She stuttered, unable to form the words or look away from the extremely extravagant gift.

"A blue pearl, yes," he answered for her. He stared at her anxiously. "Do you like it? I remember you saying on the train ride here that you wanted one."

"Harry, it's – it's _beautiful!_"

She threw herself into her friend's arms, sobbing and hugging him tightly. Harry, uncomfortable and unsure how to react, carefully lowered his arms around her.

"Will you put it on me?" she asked him.

He nodded and lifted the necklace from the safety of the velvet box; she lifted her hair and he linked the clasp together. The girls immediately crowded around her, shoving Harry out of the way.

"Is that—?"

"It _can't_ be!"

"A blue pearl? A _blue pearl?_"

Her eyes shining, Hermione lifted her head to proudly display the single pearl that hung around her neck. The pearl was the size of a large marble and the colour of the blue sky; it was also one of the rarest and most prized jewels on the entire planet, its worth three times that of LexCorp or even WayneTech Enterprises.

"What on Earth is going on here?" Professor McGonagall demanded, coming over to investigate why all the girls gathered so tightly around Hermione.

"Harry got Hermione a blue pearl, Professor," Neville explained, standing next to the youngest Wayne heir.

"How did you manage this?" she asked, turning to stare at Harry curiously.

"My father was helping Aquaman and Queen Mera," he explained. "They gave him a blue pearl in exchange for his help and his hospitality." He jutted his chin at the blue pearl. "There are only seven on the entire planet. That's the lightest one and was discovered in Lake Huron centuries ago before Aquaman reclaimed it."

"That is quite the gift, Mr. Wayne," she told him.

"Hermione's worth it," Harry said, never taking his eyes off of his female best friend. "She's worth so much more than that."

Neville rolled his eyes and clasped his back.

"You've got it bad, mate, real bad."

"What?"

"You like her."

"I do not!" Harry sputtered. "She's just my friend."

"A friend whom you give a rare blue pearl to. Oh, yes. She's _just_ a friend."

Laughing, Neville sauntered off to the Gryffindor table, leaving Harry very confused because he really _didn't_ like Hermione in that way. At least, not yet he didn't.

**Author's notes:**

Questions? Comments? Please leave a review and let the author know how she can improve by telling her what you liked and didn't like.

1. Please forgive me. I am still learning how to write manipulative characters and portray them correctly. I may have done a disservice to both Bruce Wayne and Dumbledore and for that I apologize. I am trying something very different with this story and I hope you are still enjoying it.


	7. Halloween

__Part VII: Halloween

_Dufftown, Scotland._

_October 31__st__, 8:05 p.m. GMT._

_The Entrance Hall._

"Robin to Justice League, come in Justice League."

Harry frantically listened for several seconds before he once again pressed the button on his communicator.

"Robin to Justice League, come in Justice League."

Sliding against the wall, Harry carefully peered around the corner to survey his surroundings and gouge the distance between his hiding place and the entrance to the dungeons. He needed to reach his room down in the Slytherin dormitory but that was currently proving impossible with the troll that used its gigantic bulk to block his way. His emerald eyes scanned the creature up and down, searching for any potential weak points that would enable him to bring it down. Without his utility belt to provide him with an endless supply of Birdarangs, smoke pellets and flash grenades, he found himself forced to rely upon his stealth. His Birdarangs would not penetrate the trolls' thick skin. His smoke pellets and flash grenades would provide a useful distraction only. He did not know enough about magic to dare to attempt to cast a defensive spell. He grit his teeth. He silently cursed that idiot Quirrell for wasting precious class time to stutter about the ways of defending oneself against vampires. While that information might prove useful in the future, right _now_ he needed to know how to take down a fully grown mountain troll!

Two more trolls stood guard on either side of the doors that opened up on to the castle's grounds. His mind whirled. He remembered Hermione telling him that the Ministry of Magic considered trolls beasts because they were incapable of understanding the concept of logic or individuality. Yet from what he could see from his vantage point, these trolls clearly knew how to set up a strategic advantage. The guards at both doors proved his theory. With the two trolls guarding the doors, they would be forewarned if anyone attempted to enter the castle via the main entrance or from underneath the castle by way of the dungeons. This strategy thoroughly reminded him of the time when his father ordered him to memorize the mission in Central City where Flash and Green Lantern John Stuart battled a telepathic gorilla named Grodd. He closed his eyes and a mental map appeared in his mind with red dots appearing as Grodd's lackeys – only in this case, he replaced them all with trolls and he did not know the leader behind this operation.

Ducking behind the wall, he pressed his communicator a third time.

"Robin to Justice League, come in Justice League!"

He waited impatiently for J'onn or Hawkwoman or his father to answer his summons. The link remained clear.

"Damn it," he cursed. He removed the tiny electronic device from his ear and carefully examined every inch of it, searching for anything that would lead him to believe it to be broken or explain why the League refused to answer his call. Nothing caught his attention – no faulty wires, no dead battery (not that it ran on batteries) –, and he reset it in his ear. He then pressed the minute button just to the right of the communicator. This would hopefully bring him into direct contact with his father, his brother or Alfred. "Robin to Batman, please respond immediately!"

The comm. link beeped and, less than a second later, his father's voice sounded in his ear.

"What is it, Robin?"

"I need the Justice League but none of the original seven members are responding!" he whispered, his voice tight with barely restrained rage. "I thought the whole point of creating the Justice League was to respond to those in need of help?"

Silence reigned for several seconds over the shared link between father and son. Harry briefly wondered what his father was thinking. Bruce knew that Harry rarely raised his voice or allowed his emotions to break through his control; that he could hear the stress in his son's voice meant that the boy spoke the truth. Unlike the other members of the Justice League, Bruce immediately believed his son; after years of working together, his father knew that his sons would never dare lie to him. In that regard, he never lied to _them_ even by omission.

"Tell me what's wrong, Robin," Batman commanded.

"What about the League?"

"I will deal with the Justice League," his father informed him. "Tell me what is wrong so that I can help you."

"Hogwarts is under attack. Without my utility belt, I have no means of getting past them," Harry explained to his father. "This is obviously a coordinated attack. Mountain trolls are strategically placed at the school's main entrance and the only access point to the dungeons. Threat to civilians is minimal; the staff has the students locked inside the Great Hall.

"I can't take them down on my own, Batman. Each troll weighs over 600 pounds and is well over 12 feet high. Their skin is thick and a Batarang or Birdarang won't penetrate their hide. I believe this requires the skills of the entire Justice League."

"Acknowledged."

Harry frowned when he heard the roar of the Batwing's engine through their comm. link.

"Robin, I want you to stay where you are. Only if the opportunity presents itself, and you can safely slip past the trolls, do I want you to suit up. If that is impossible, then you are to _stay there_. Do _not_ do anything foolish. I am en route to your location. Nightwing is standing by."

"And the Justice League?" Harry asked.

"I have contacted Superman and he in turn has contacted the remaining members of the League. We are all en route to Hogwarts. Our approximate arrival time is 30 minutes."

Harry's eyes widened. The Batwing and Javelin could travel faster than any jet plane but he never expected his father or the League to arrive so quickly.

"Affirmative," Harry confirmed. "I shall await your arrival. Robin out."

The next half an hour passed by incredibly slowly for the secret Boy Wonder. He greatly disliked when Batman benched him, even though he knew that Batman only wanted to keep him safe. With seven enormous mountain trolls guarding the Entrance Hall and trying to break through the golden double doors of the Great Hall, he knew better than to rush headlong into the situation. Besides, that was more Super Boy's thing. Taught by his father at a young age to value the importance of time, he knew how to wait. He required allies for this fight. He may be able to take on Killer Croc and Bane without Batman for back up but without his utility belt he would not be able to defend himself against these seven trolls.

"Superman to Robin, come in Robin."

Harry surged to his feet and fought not to jump up and down in sheer joy of that fact.

"This is Robin. Go ahead, Superman."

"Are you in a secure location?"

Harry knew what _that_ meant.

"Yes, I am."

Less than three seconds after he finished speaking with Superman, Harry heard the subtle sound of ice beginning to expand across the rigid surface of the double doors that opened up on to the grounds. The doors groaned loudly under the pressure as tiny particles of ice lodged into the deep crevices of the wood and began to spread. Cautiously, he peered around the corner. The noise drew the attention of the two trolls standing on either side of the doors' frames. Speaking to each other in a language that he did not understand, he watched them move forward until they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of them. By this point Harry could see ice spreading through the seams where the doors connected with each other. He jerked his head back at precisely the right moment: the doors flew off their hinges, slamming into the two trolls that stood before it and carried them forward, crashing into the grand staircase.

A blur of bright blue and red announced the arrival of the Man of Steel. He hovered several inches off of the ground, his red cape swirling gently behind him, before he landed on silent feet. The reverberating bang of the door impacting against the stone steps of the grand staircase caused all seven trolls in the vicinity to stop in their actions. The one guarding the entrance to the dungeons abandoned its post and began lumbering forward; the earth shook with each of the monster's footfalls. The Entrance Hall stretched wide enough to allow two trolls to stand side-by-side with their shoulders brushing against the walls; this caused the ones behind them to press against the two that now found themselves stuck. Superman, never one to miss an opportunity, took a step back, clasped his hands and swung forward with the mighty power only a Kryptonian could possess. The force of the blow caused the trolls to lift into the air and, this time, Superman did not hesitate. He grabbed the largest one and shoved him into the wall while kicking out with his legs at the others that approached.

"Go Robin!" he roared.

Harry did not need to be told twice. Sprinting from his hiding spot, he skidded around the corner, tucking his body and performing a roll to avoid the troll that sailed over his head, before he leapt down the flight of stairs that led to the dungeon. Snarling, he silently swore that he would never leave his uniform in his trunk again. He knew how to cast a few powerful glamour charms that would hide his belt in plain sight and he decided that he would carry a few more Birdarangs than just the one hidden in the inside pocket of his robes. He stopped in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room and growled the password at the stone wall that easily slid aside. He dashed for his dormitory, which he shared with Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. He could not afford to waste any time. Quickly, using the skills that both his father and brother taught him, he donned his uniform.

(*)

"Hera, give me strength!"

Robin emerged from the dungeons, his cape billowing behind him, and surveyed the fight taking place before him. His lips curled upward in a mischievous grin. The Original Seven members of the Justice League each battled a troll with their unique skills. Wonder Woman swung her Lasso of Truth around the waist of the second largest and pulled back with all of her upper body strength. The troll jerked backward, his chin connecting with the stone floor. Superman continued to battle with the largest. Flash zoomed around one of the smaller ones, annoying the troll to the point that it banged its club at anything that drew too close to it. Green Lantern Hal Jordan used the energy of his ring to create an emerald cage, which he used to slam down over the head of his troll. Hawkwoman fought violently with her mace and finally managed to knock the creature out with a not-so-gentle tap to the head. His eyes flicked to the final troll, which he found Batman and Nightwing battling. Cackling, he reached into his belt, withdrew a Birdarang, and threw it at the troll.

"Having all the fun without me?" he called as he back flipped toward his father and brother.

"Without you? Never!" Nightwing chortled.

Robin landed beside Nightwing, his hands immediately positioning themselves into a defensive stature.

"As much as I enjoy these family reunions," Batman informed his sons, "we have slightly more important matters at hand."

"On it!" Nightwing and Robin cried at the same time.

Robin reached inside of his belt, stole a glance at Nightwing, who nodded, and tossed the smoke pellet to the ground. The tiny ball exploded. The escaping gas hissed before flooding the room with thick, gray smoke. He aimed his grapple gun at the ceiling; as he climbed higher, Nightwing leapt on to the troll's back and whacked it across the head with his escrima sticks. The troll groaned but did not go down. Suddenly, out of the smoke, Batman emerged, his cape flaring behind him, the shadow of the Dark Knight falling over the mighty creature. He landed with his feet slamming into the monster's chest. The momentum knocked the troll backward and – Robin winced – through the stone wall straight into the Great Hall.

His fellow classmates started screaming at the top of their lungs. Panic and hysteria filtered through the youngest first year students to those graduating at the end of the second term. A few brave souls withdrew their wands and brandished them brazenly believing they would be heroes if they brought down a full grown mountain troll.

The troll, confused by the noise the students were making, turned around in confusion, swinging his club back and forth.

Robin knew that this could not go on much longer. Someone could end up very seriously injured or worse.

He released his hold on his grapple gun and plummeted to the ground, tucking his body into a roll before he actually hit the stone floor. He surged to his feet, sprinting forward. His father and brother joined him and, together, they circled the troll.

"What's its weakness, Robin?" Nightwing demanded, glancing quickly at his brother.

"I don't know," he answered.

Batman and Nightwing stared at him. His cheeks grew warm with embarrassment.

"We will talk about this later, young man," Batman growled. "I certainly taught you better than that."

Robin bowed his head. His father most certainly _had_ taught him better than that.

A spell whizzed past his shoulders and struck the troll square in the nose. The monster went completely wild.

"Nightwing, Robin," Batman roared above the din. "We need to take it out. Now!"

"I'm on it, Bats!"

Flash appeared out of nowhere but the troll swung his club at exactly the right moment and it connected with the Fastest Man Alive.

"Flash!"

Batman and Robin shared a look. They did not need to say anything. In unison, they lifted their grapple guns toward the ceiling, lifted off and punched the troll.

(*)

"What is the meaning of this?"

Headmaster Dumbledore strode down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables toward the Justice League. His usual benign attitude shifted in to one of pure malice; his blue eyes did not twinkle this time: instead, they seemed to flash with strikes of lightning. He swung his gaze from each member of the League and finally landed on Robin. Batman immediately stepped in front of the boy.

"Who are you and how did you manage to find this school?"

Superman stepped forward, holding up his hands in a gesture to show that he and his team posed no threat to the school.

"I am Superman," he said. "We are all members of the Justice League. We heard that there was a disturbance and decided to investigate."

Dumbledore did not look pleased but before he could say anything more, several students rushed up toward them.

"It's Robin!" a girl in fifth year squealed.

"And Nightwing!" a seventh year shrieked.

"Superman! Superman, over here!"

Those born to non-magic parents or with only a single parent to the magical world, recognized the Justice League and what they stood for.

"Do not think this is over, Robin," his father whispered from where he stood beside his son. "You and I are going to talk."

**Author's Notes:**

This is really not my best piece of work. I'm not proud of this. I decided that I would update, though, because if I did not do so now, it would be another month before anyone was able to read anything. You can tell me if you absolutely hated it but I needed to find a way to get the Justice League to Hogwarts. The idea was better prepared in my head but it gave me a devil of a time writing it. So, I suppose, you could consider this filler.

By the way, what would YOU like to see happen in this story? Would you like to read through other characters' points of view (say, Voldemort, Dumbledore, possibly other heroes)?

Do you want Harry to join the Quidditch team? Do you want to see more Batman and Robin and Nightwing interaction in this story? Do you want him to head home to Gotham on the weekends?


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